


So You Wanna Play With Magic? 5+1

by iPumperdiddle



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, At first anyways, Attempted Seduction, Comedy, Credence Barebone Learning Magic, Credence’s POV, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Legilimency (Harry Potter), Light Angst, Lingerie, M/M, MACUSA | Magical Congress of the United States of America, Mild Praise Kink, Minor Original Character(s), Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Beta Read, Occlumency (Harry Potter), Oral Sex, Original Percival Graves is a Softie, Percival/Coffee, Pining, Queenie and Cree Brotp, Seduction, Self-Loathing, Sexually Frustrated Percival, Slow Burn, Smitten Original Percival Graves, Smut, Teasing, Transfiguration (Harry Potter), accidental teasing, oblivious credence, this is my first time writing smut go easy on me lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:02:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26921083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iPumperdiddle/pseuds/iPumperdiddle
Summary: 5 times Credence accidentally teases Mr. Graves and the 1 time he does it on purpose.
Relationships: Credence Barebone/Original Percival Graves
Comments: 30
Kudos: 102





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So hi! This is my first 5+1 fic and I owe my inspiration to @foggys_cupcake_girl 
> 
> Seriously, you’re amazing <3
> 
> Title from Katy Perry’s song Dark Horse. ((Pssst, Graves is the dark horse ;3 ))
> 
> -Unbeta’d-

It had been nearly eight months since the subway.

Eight months ago Credence had been surrounded on all sides by witches and wizards in various states of emotion and tension. There was a group wearing matching uniforms and coats with their wands raised and pointed at him, standing by for the kill order. Aurors, he eventually learned. Their expressions were grim and aggressive, all scowling heavily in his direction like snarling attack dogs waiting to be unleashed.

Then there was the kind brunette witch, her hand lifted towards the others, pleading them to quiet and stand down. Miss Tina. She had once intervened in one of Ma's punishments. Aurors had come to the church to wipe their memories of the incident. But Credence remembered. She may have been a witch, but to him she was an angel.

The Englishman with auburn hair and the peacock blue coat had been gentle as well, but no less urgent in his attempts to calm the growing crowd around them. His name, Mr. Scamander ("Newt, if you please,"). Before the tunnel had become crowded he told Credence about a girl like him. Had softly asked if he could come over to him. That he wanted to help.

And then there was Mr. Graves.

Credence could remember him attacking Newt, so vividly in fact that he still suffered occasional night terrors from it. How Mr. Graves whipped his wand in long, violent strokes—lashing bright blue lightening at the man on the tracks—said man grunting in pain when each swipe met its mark. 

It had been too much. Sobbing, Credence had erupted into a cloud of kinetic black and red...the darkness within him seeking vengeance.

It had all been an awful blur, one that he still came up foggy when thinking about (though he desperately refrained from thinking about anything from eight months ago, if at all possible.)

In the end Miss Tina was able to coax Credence back into his solid, shivering body. Mr. Graves put up a tremendous fight, managing to knock out several Aurors before he was subdued by Newt's Swooping Evil... a strange looking creature that he personally believes would be perfect nightmare fuel, (but he would never admit that to Mr. Sca- Newt.)

Mr. Graves was...well, Not-Mr. Graves.

Credence could still remember watching with baited breath and shaky limbs, from the comfort of Miss. Tina's arms as Mr. Graves' appearance suddenly melted. White-blonde hair and cold, mismatched eyes. His name was Gellert Grindelwald, he was told later in a clinical white room, seated in front of an elegant caramel-skinned woman wearing a head wrap, several blonde strands were purposefully dipping below the hem in waves. Madam President. As in, President of all witches and wizards in America. Credence had been terrified. It was her, after all, who had initially ordered the Aurors into attack formation.

She never did apologize for that, stating "You were a threat to the Statute of Secrecy and I would have done anything to prevent our world from being exposed," but she did go on to apologize to Credence for allowing him to slip through the cracks. Saying how deeply sorry she was that he had to live a No-Maj life (people without magic, he had been informed upon his confused expression), and that even though he had killed three people -Credence had flinched hard- he would be pardoned thanks to Mr. Scamander's "scathing insight."

It truly had been his obscurus, Newt had argued. The obscurus was responsible, as it was a manifestation of all the negativity Credence had endured... of his magic being forcefully repressed due to his upbringing and subsequent abuse suffered at the hands of his adoptive mother.

Part of Credence could agree with that. After all, the majority of the time he had no recollection of the obscurus. He had been able to remember vague fragments, mostly screaming that he assumed was part of his nightmares.

The other half of him vehemently disagreed. He had been the one responsible for killing Senator Shaw and Ma and Chastity. He had wanted the man to hurt. And Ma... he wanted to protect Modesty from her, and his other sister happened to get caught in the crossfire.

Newt would firmly, but gently correct Credence whenever he brought it up, so eventually he stopped talking about it altogether.

Then the question that everybody was asking. 

Where is the real Mr. Graves?

As it turned out Grindelwald had been keeping the man locked up in his own office the entire time, magically bound and weakened within a cigar box sporting a small, undetectable extension charm.  
Right in the open. Placed mockingly on the director's own desk. It was Newt who found Mr. Graves, with the help of his niffler.

Grindelwald tortured him for three days before becoming frustrated and instead kept him as his own personal stock of potion supplies when the man refused to give up sensitive MACUSA information. Miss Tina had told Credence that Graves was an expert in Occlumency, so "That blonde-headed bastard wasn't able to pull a thing from his mind."

Mr. Graves was freed and taken to MACUSA's personal medical ward to recover. He wasn't in terrible health but he did suffer from a noticeable tremor... side effects from prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus curse. He would heal, they said. (He would also complain about it the whole time, staying in the ward for a full 2 weeks).

In the mean time Credence had stayed with Newt, in order to observe and hopefully remove the obscurus.

The cure, surprisingly enough, came in the form of depleting his natural magic reserves. He hadn't been permitted a wand of his own, but he had been allowed to borrow one under the mandatory supervision of Aurors.

That was how Credence performed his first spell in one of the MACUSA training rooms. Immediately he had felt a shift. Like slowly releasing the valve of a pressure cooker. The darkness within him seemed to shrink and give with every shakily spoken incantation. It withered with each successful spell until it finally collapsed out of existence, Newt there to confirm it through a series of diagnostic spells. Credence had never felt so light before. So free.

He openly wept with his arms thrown around the magizoologist in front of a dozen of MACUSA's finest and Madam President herself.

And for the first time ever he didn't care. 

He was free.

* 

The scent of fresh coffee brewing tickled Credence's nose, rich and earthy. It was more effective than any alarm clock could be. It also indicated that Mr. Graves was up and about getting ready for work and that it was time for him to get up as well.

Credence groaned softly, rubbing sleepily at his eye as he sat up in bed. A bed he was still getting used to as it was much larger and far more comfortable than the one he had slept on in the church attic. He had openly gawked and sputtered when Mr. Graves had shown him to his room (his own room!), insisting that it was too much.

The man would hear none of it. "You deserve to be comfortable, Credence." He had stated softly, ushering him into his new bedroom with a hand between his shoulders. "And you'll find that I'll do everything in my power to see that you are comfortable here." With that he had gently patted Credence on the shoulder and left him to his own devices, reminding him that dinner would be along shortly and if he needed anything all he had to do was ask.

Throwing the covers back Credence slipped out of bed and padded quietly to his armoire. It was still incredibly overwhelming to have more than one suit, and clothing of such exquisite quality. Mr. Graves of course provided these as well, being adamant that Credence needed a full wardrobe if he was to work. Also adding that he needed clothing in general. It wasn't a secret that he had nothing. The little clothing he did have were threadbare and two sizes too small.

Now Credence stood before his armoire, the poor thing virtually pregnant with some of the finest garments he had ever owned, specifically tailored just for him. He tries not to imagine the small fortune Mr. Graves must have spent each time he removes an outfit. His eyes tended to bug out of his skull if he thought about it too much.

Today he decides to go with a white button up, wine colored waistcoat and black trousers. At the fitting Mr. Graves told him that red compliments his skin tone very well, so Credence had sheepishly told the tailor to include several items of that color when the man was out of earshot.

He gets dressed leisurely and opts out of a belt for Y-Back suspenders. Come to think of it he's not even sure he owns a belt anymore. Credence shudders at the bitter memories that train of thought leads to and quickly banishes them, shrugging the straps onto his shoulders. He slips on his shoes and snags his suit jacket from the armoire, moving to exit his room before he stops in his tracks.

Wand...right. Can't forget that. Credence chides himself as he hustles over to the nightstand where his wand is settled, lifting it with a gentle hand to place it in his wand pocket.

Redwood. 13 inches. Wampus cat hair core. Rigid.

Credence, for the second time in his life, had wept openly in front of a group of people when his wand chose him. Mr. Graves had been the one to take him to see Jonker's. He was also the one who whispered how proud he was of Credence and how honored he felt to be able to be the one there for such an important milestone in his life, all the while holding the younger man in a firm hug (honestly, he probably would have ended up on the floor if not for Mr. Graves arms around him), while said young man hiccuped a wet spot onto his shoulder.

The memory caused Credence's eyes to sting. Ever since Mr. Graves had met him and learned his story he had made it his aim to try and right every wrong the younger wizard had experienced. From having Credence live with him (Oh, it's no trouble at all, my boy, I've got the room) to apologizing for what Grindelwald had done to him while using his face, for growing up not knowing his own world, for being abused by a woman who was supposed to be a mother to him. There was nothing for the man to apologize for, but still he did.

Life with Mr. Graves was incredibly different. Different but wonderful. Credence would lie in bed every single night and thank whatever god was out there for these blessings. He almost didn't believe this was real. That he had died in that subway and had been granted access into Heaven. That's what it felt like.

Taking a deep, if somewhat shaky breath Credence cleared his mind and cast a quick glance about the room. Once certain that everything was in order he exhales and leaves, pulling the door shut to follow after the intoxicating perfume of roasted coffee beans.

When Credence enters the kitchen he sees Mr. Graves standing at the counter with his back to him. "Good morning, Credence." Mr. Graves murmurs without turning around from the percolator. He was pouring coffee into a thermos to take to work like every morning, a separate mug already filled and sitting close by.

"Morning, Mr. Graves." Credence replied, not quite holding back a chuckle. Dark eyes turned to greet him, a thick brow raising.

"What's so funny?" The man questioned as he set the percolator down to retrieve his coffee mug, turning to lean back against the counter, lifting the mug to his lips as he looked at Credence. His face was almost always stoic, but the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth and the soft glimmer in his eyes gave away his amusement.

Credence draped his suit jacket along the back of one of the dining chairs and stretched his arms above his head, folding until they overlapped. He gripped his forearms with both hands creating a box around his head. Stifling a yawn he leaned back until he felt a soft pop in his spine. Ah, much better.

"Oh, it's just...there's coffee at work." He mused, angling to the side just a bit in his stretch.

Mr. Graves' gaze slid along the expanse of Credence's waist, chest and shoulders before abruptly snapping back to the younger mans' eyes. For a second it almost looked like they darkened, but as quickly as that happened it was gone. Hm, odd.

"Hmm... yes. But it's not... it's not my coffee." Mr. Graves responded in a hoarse voice. He cleared his throat a couple times before taking a long sip from his cup. Credence hoped the other wizard wasn't getting sick.

Dropping his arms Credence walked to the sink and opened a cabinet above it to retrieve a glass, stretching to snag one of his favorites on the top shelf -another cough, 'perhaps Mr. Graves needs a Pepper-Up', he pondered- before hesitantly opening the refrigerator. That was another thing he was still getting accustomed to: being able to eat or drink anything he wanted and at anytime. Mr. Graves was working with him on that.

"You seem to enjoy the coffee I bring you, Mr. Graves." Credence points out conversationally as he pours himself some orange juice.

Credence couldn't possibly have noticed because he was busy returning the jug back to the refrigerator, but had he looked at Mr. Graves when he said that he would have noticed how the tips of his ears went red immediately.

He instead turned to see Graves hiding behind his mug.

"I enjoy the gesture, Credence." Mr. Graves admits in a low, gentle voice while looking anywhere but the young wizard. "Also it's caffeine, and I am never one to turn down caffeine."

Credence sipped his orange juice thoughtfully, watching the older wizard toss back the rest of his coffee and set the mug down. "Would you like me to make some breakfast?"

"Oh, no thank you that's not necessary. I was going to grab a pastry when we got to work." Credence finished his juice and rinsed the glass in the sink. "Well... if there are any left, that is." He half muses to himself.

Mr. Graves adjusts his sleeves and cuff links before reaching for his suit jacket, draped on the chair next to Credence's. "Are they usually gone by the time you get there?" He questioned, slipping on the jacket and smoothing his hands along the front.

Credence can't help but to follow the motion with his eyes, mouth suddenly going dry. He mentally scolds himself for staring. No.. stop that.

"They are popular." He replies breathlessly. Shaking his head to clear it he grabs his own suit jacket and puts it on. Mr. Graves seems to be all set, thermos cradled in one hand and today's copy of The New York Ghost tucked under his arm.

He looks at Credence, seeming to consider something. "Well, that just won't do." He states, offering his free arm to Credence for side-along.

"Really, Mr. Graves... it's not an issue. When they're out I usually just go to the work cafe and get something there." Credence places his hand on the older wizard's arm and instantly feels the strange pull near his navel indicative of apparition.

He's done side-along with Mr. Graves so many times now yet he still can't get over the bizarre sensation, his body feeling as though its being forcefully squeezed through a narrow tube.

They appear with a crack in the designated apparition zone a block away and head towards the Woolworth building. Mr. Graves never responded to what Credence said, so he assumed the older wizard was going to leave it at that.

Mr. Graves nods to the doorman, Credence offering a soft "Hello." Once they make it in and past the entryway Mr. Graves wishes him a good day and says he'll see him in the office later before heading towards the lift. Credence gives him a soft smile, wishing the same but remains behind, eyes trailing after the man's retreating form. He really was handsome.

Stop. That. Right. Now.  
He really needed to get his thoughts under control.

Credence sighed softly, walking to the alcove where he waited every morning for Miss Queenie to arrive.

Once it was certain that the obscurus was gone the matter of what to do with Credence came up. He could successfully perform magic and he had been pardoned of all charges against him. Newt had to return to England, Madam President's orders, and had only been around long enough to make sure Credence was stable and adjusting well. He also managed to help locate Mr. Graves in that short period but sadly he was still given the boot because his case posed too much of a risk.

Without prompting, Mr. Graves at once offered his own home to the young man. To say that had shocked Credence was an understatement. In fact, it seemed to shock anybody who heard.  
But Mr. Graves insisted, stating he had the space and resources available and that it was the least he could do. He also pointed out that he was Director of Magical Law Enforcement and as such was well equipped to not only offer Credence protection but also help him get a jump on his magical education.

It didn't take much for Madam President to agree.

Not long after moving in with Mr. Graves suggested that he could help Credence get a job within MACUSA, if he wanted it. He made sure to let him know it would start out as something small and lower leveled but the younger wizard had agreed quickly, eager to be useful in some way.

That's how he got his job working canteen with Miss. Queenie. Oh look, there she is.

"Hi Honey!" Queenie greeted cheerfully, her short blonde curls bouncing with each step as she approached Credence. He was pulled into a warm embrace when she finally reached him. He melted into her arms and happily thought about how all of her hugs felt like being curled up in a fluffy blanket next to a cozy fireplace.

"Awww, ain't you sweet as pie?" Queenie gave him one last squeeze before pulling back, a bright grin stretched across her face.

Credence shrugged sheepishly, earning a delighted giggle. "You really are, Cree. I know a few people who seem to think so, too." Queenie smiled conspiratorially, tapping a slim, delicate finger to her temple.

"I... uh..." He just couldn't get any words out and instead flushed a brilliant shade of scarlet. Certainly nobody thought that about him. Right?

"Honey, you have no idea what goes on in some of these noggins 'round here." She whispered mischievously, giving a soft chuckle before weaving their arms together and guiding him towards the lift. "Don't worry, I wouldn't tell you something that ain't true. Now, ready to get the day started?"

Credence nodded with a quiet "Yes" and stepped into the lift with Queenie. They both politely greeted Red, who always seemed to soften around the two of them and then the lift was moving down.

They arrive to canteen and began preparing for their first rounds. Freshly brewed coffees and assorted teas ready to steep... flakey pastries, hearty bagels with rich spreads and decadent glazed doughnuts smelling syrupy and sweet. All charmed to stay hot. Credence arranged his items carefully as always, fussing over how the setup looked until Queenie shoos him off telling him it's fine. Queenie takes one half of the floors while Credence takes the other, meeting in the middle.

He's handed out a good portion of his inventory by the time he makes it to Mr. Graves' office. Knocking three times, Credence pulls a raspberry and cream cheese Danish from below the plain bagel he had been using to hide it. The danishes were always the first to go, and it was one of Mr. Graves' favorites. Credence always made sure to save him one.

"Come in." Graves' gravelly baritone called out as the door opened. Heart skipping a beat, Credence entered with his cart.

Mr. Graves was seated behind his desk scratching away at a document with his fountain pen. The man had such beautiful looping script. Credence could sit and watch him write all day. He had rather gorgeous hands too, sometimes he imagined them...

NO.

"Pardon?" Mr. Graves lifted his head, a confused expression on his face, and sat his pen down.

Oh dear, did he say that out loud?

"I... said OH. I just noticed that there's one danish left! Isn't that great? What are the odds, Mr. Graves?" 'Get it together, come on.'

Did Mr. Graves just... no. No, he must be hearing things, because he could have sworn he just heard the man laugh.

Oh, would you look at that. His head is thrown back and he's genuinely laughing and it's the most beautiful sound Credence has ever heard. Deep and rumbly. That sound is going to haunt him until the day he dies.

"That is most fortunate. The best news I've heard all morning." Graves chuckles, swiping a thumb below his eye. "Come in, my boy."

Swallowing against the lump in his throat Credence pushed the cart up beside the desk. Mr. Graves casually waved his (gorgeous) hand at the documents and they lifted and flowed through the air, stacking mid flight to settle down out of the way, effectively clearing a spot off the desk for his treat.

Credence somehow is able to stop his hands from shaking when he places the pastry down. He might have been successful in that. Cheered triumphantly in his head in fact.

He was, however, the biggest klutz to have ever walked the halls of MACUSA when he misjudged the distance, turning around quickly to pour coffee and instead slamming into the cart, toppling it and everything it held onto the floor.

It was a chaotic ballet of teaspoons and baked goods. Bagels rolled as far as the door. Napkins sashayed delicately as they floated down.

Oh and... Ohh. Mr. Graves prized Chesterfield sofa looks like Picasso himself used it as a canvas.

Credence's mental cheers of triumph quickly morphed into screams of despair.

"Mr. Graves, I cannot apologize enough!" Credence squeaked in mortification, throwing himself to his knees while frantically chasing after everything that had been knocked over. He could hear the other man talking but he couldn't understand what he was saying over the roar in this ears. God, this was so embarrassing.

Credence scooped up doughnuts and sugar cubes, tossing them in the general direction of the cart. He snatched up the napkins and squatted in front of the sofa with his back facing Mr. Graves. He just couldn't bear to look at the man as he smeared cream cheese and blueberry jam deep into his furniture.

Oh sweet Lord, that's going to stain. He puts force into his scrubbing, causing his body to bounce gently up and down.

"......Credence..."

"I am so sorry, Mr. Graves..." He's pretty sure his face looks blistered from humiliation. On top of that his trousers cling tightly to his thighs and rear, making him physically uncomfortable. But he has to clean this mess up!

Credence scrambles back down on all fours and, a-ha! there's several cups under the sofa. He bends forward over his knees, chest low to the floor as he snakes an arm around under the furniture, trying desperately to collect the cups.

"Credence." The way Mr. Graves says his name causes him to screech to a halt. He... doesn't sound angry.

It almost sounds like he's... out of breath.

Credence is still folded in on himself as the cups float away and behind him. He slowly turns, watching as food and utensils alike return to the cart. He daringly turns his eyes to the Chesterfield just in time to see the multicolored stains vanish. Only once the cart has been righted and everything back in place does he look at Mr. Graves.

The man is still seated behind his desk, face an almost perfect mask of stoicism... except for the flush and the obvious smolder to his dark eyes. He's looking at Credence in a way that causes heat to spark along the younger man's spine and travel south.

Oh. At some point the top button of his shirt came undone. How did that happen?

"Credence..." Mr. Graves repeats. His voice is low and slightly strained to the point of being raspy. Apparently the other man noticed this as well, seeing as he abruptly clears his throat and closes his eyes. Gosh, he really must be getting sick.

"Did you forget that magic exists and you're a wizard?" Mr. Graves teases softly.

"It...um, it might have slipped my mind." Credence sheepishly admitted.

Mr. Graves shook his head and sighed softly but the expression he wore said nothing of anger or disgust. Just fond amusement. A grin slowly twitched to life on his face and his dark eyes crinkled at the corners.

Credence lifted himself up off the floor on trembling legs, walked over to his cart and finally poured Mr. Graves that coffee.

*


	2. Chapter 2

Credence manages to serve coffee to Mr. Graves without any further incidents, sporting a heated blush the entire time. The man had politely thanked him for the refreshments, his gaze still warm and smirk firmly in place—and oh God, he was absolutely enraptured by it. As soon as Mr. Graves told him he was all, Credence made a hasty beeline to leave, but not before—

"Oh, and Credence?"

His stomach dropped but he still made himself turn around. "Yes, Mr. Graves?"

The older wizard took an agonizingly long sip of his coffee, plunging the room into silence and putting Credence on edge in the process. He sat his cup down before making a subtle gesture with his fingers further down Credence's body. The younger man followed the direction he was pointing to and swiftly burst into a feverish flush once more.

There was whipped cream. All over _his crotch_.

"I think I might have missed a little with the clean up." Mr. Graves observed calmly, his straight face only making matters worse. A strange, broken noise left Credence's throat as he stuttered and twitched, quickly snatching the wand out of his pocket to cast the world's fastest _Scourgify_ on himself. Only after he weakly slipped his wand away did he chance a mortified look at Mr. Graves. The man only flashed him a fond smile, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Terribly nifty charm, that one." He commented softly when he pulled the cup away from his lips. "Thank you again for the danish and coffee. See you in few hours, Credence."

Credence spazzed through a "Yes, Mr. Graves... sorry for destroying your office," and all but mowed the door down in his attempts to flee.

That's it. He can _never_ face Mr. Graves again.

*

The bell for MACUSA's lunch break chimed just as Credence wheeled his (God forsaken) cart into canteen. Only 11:30 in the morning and he was already drained.

Queenie was just collecting her pink clutch and heading towards the door when she noticed him, her face lighting up with a perky smile. "Hey Honey! Ya ready to go on lun— _Oh, Credence..._ "

Well. He _had_ never wanted to speak of it ever again. So much for _that_.

Miss Queenie was always so sweet and sympathetic. A very kind and understanding person who wore her heart on her sleeve and always gave the best advice. If Credence could have picked a mother it would have been her. That's why it completely derailed him when she was overcome by a fit of giggles. The bubbly blonde witch threw a hand over her mouth and bent at the waist to laugh a full-bodied, shoulder shaking thing. Credence felt mildly betrayed.

" _Queenie_!" Credence groaned loudly and lifted his hands to cover his face. Oh, how he wished he knew _Occlumency_ right now.

"I'm—oh Cree, I don't mean to laugh but..." she promptly roared with more laughter.

"Queenie, _please_. It was bad enough to go through that! Now you're just rubbing salt in the wound." He threw his hands up and stared at her before self-consciously crossing his arms. "Go ahead, get it all out." he mumbled.

Her laughter finally died down to a hiccup every now and then while she swiped at her eyes, chasing the mascara that was starting to run. "I am so sorry that I laughed at you, Honey. That was real insensitive of me. It's just—as soon as you came into the room your thoughts just kind of..." Queenie made an impact gesture towards her face. " _Whoosh_."

Seemingly back in control of herself, Queenie approached Credence and pulled him into a hug. "I'm sorry sweetie. Bad day?"

Credence huffed a resigned chuckle, returning the embrace before stepping back. "Not really. I mean, it's just that I'm so awkward and clumsy. I did it to myself, really." He rubbed at his neck. "I guess I was thinking kind of loud, wasn't I?"

"Honey, for a second there I thought you was actually yelling." She gently nudged him when he started to groan again.

"It's alright. We can still turn this around. You ready to go get lunch?"

Credence nodded and looped his arm with hers when she offered it. They leave the canteen and head for the lift.

Maybe Queenie is right. This day could be fixed. It was still early and he only suffered one mishap on his part. So he knocked over his cart and made an absolute fool of himself trying to clean up the mess like he didn't know what magic was. And yeah, maybe he would like for the earth to open up and just swallow him already. The one thing that eases that embarrassment is the fact that Mr. Graves hadn't been angry.

He could handle amusement over anger.

"Did you _really_ crawl around Mr. Graves office chasing doughnuts?"

" _Queenie!_ "

*

When they reach MACUSA's cafe', lunch break was in full swing. Queenie asked Credence to pick a table while she went to grab their food trays. There was a few that were empty and he chose one that was settled in a corner by the window. The window was enchanted so they could see outside but none could see in, and Credence often liked to sit and watch people out on the street going about their day.

Queenie sauntered back, placing their trays down before sitting in the chair across from him in the corner. "They had some chicken jambalaya but it smelled awfully spicy so I got you roast beef on rye." She winked before tucking into her salad.

"Thanks Queenie." Credence took a small bite of his sandwich and glanced around the room. There were more people in the cafe' today than there usually was, which was a bit odd. Nearly the entire MLE department was here. Mr. Graves must be in a good mood to allow all of his Aurors a break at the same time.

He took a few more bites and sipped on his iced tea, Queenie started talking after a long moment while she packed lettuce and ham onto the end of her fork.

" _So_ , I was handing out coffee this morning in wand permits..."

Credence nibbled his lip to hide a smile. He knew where this was going.

She lowered her voice while checking around the room, no doubt looking out for the person she was about to name drop. "...and you will _never_ guess what happened to Mr. Abernathy."

Credence finished his sandwich, sipped at his iced tea and nodded for her to continue while reaching for the cherry jell-o on his tray.

Queenie raised her hands to gesture as she spoke, something she did often. "I was talking to Dolores Bradbury—you know, the one who took over Teenies spot after they reinstated her as an Auror?—well, she was telling me about this recipe for pineapple upside down cake she found when Mr. Abernathy _stumbles into the room_ all wide eyed holding a jinxed letter opener—" Her eyes look somewhere above Credence's head and a grin slowly comes to life on her face, "Good afternoon, Mr. Graves! Fancy seeing you here." She chirps happily.

Credence froze with his hand hovering over his dessert.

"Miss Goldstein." The man's voice was close. He must be standing right behind Credence.

Queenie is still smiling brightly, her gaze bouncing between Credence and Mr. Graves. "Whatcha got there, sir?" She inquires cheerfully at the sound of muffled crinkling.

Credence perks up. Just like that he goes from feeling a reawakening of embarrassment to tickling curiosity. It wouldn't hurt to look at the man. It was, after all, rude not to acknowledge him just because he trashed the man's office. He turns sideways in his seat to peer up at the wizard hovering over him.

Warm eyes under dark brows meet his and he can't help but smile.

_Gosh, he's got the most beautiful eyes..._

Queenie chortles.

_STOP_ , Credence warns in his mind. Both to the woman and his thoughts.

"Mr. Graves." Credence croaks, willing his complexion to remain even. What was he doing here? The other man never left his office for lunch, it was always brought to him.

" _Credence_ ," he greets with a nod, both arms behind his back. Something out of sight crinkled again. Mr. Graves clears his throat and brought a hand around from behind his back. He's holding a pastry.

"You mentioned this morning that sometimes you don't always get a pastry and I—I know you've just had lunch but I wanted to make sure you got one." Mr. Graves cleared his throat once more and placed the treat into a waiting palm. Credence hadn't even realized he'd moved his hand.

"It's a chocolate eclair." The older man adds quickly, scratching his chin before stuffing both hands into his trouser pockets. If Credence didn't know any better he'd say the man looked nervous.

"Oh, _Mr. Graves_...you didn't ha— That was very thoughtful. Thank you." Warmth pricks Credence's cheeks at the kind gesture and a tiny smile plays on his lips.

Mr. Graves is watching him with an unreadable expression but his eyes hold a warm fondness that makes heat stir within Credence.

Maybe he's waiting to see if he likes it?

Credence brings the eclair in for a closer look. It's a delicate, golden thing with shiny chocolate glazing the top and it's nearly bursting with custard.

It smells heavenly.

He brings the pastry to his mouth for a modest bite. He was right about the custard, because as soon as he sinks his teeth in the filling oozes out onto his lips. He gently licks the bottom one.

Flavor bursts along his tastebuds and Credence is helpless to stop the gentle appreciative moan that escapes his throat. It's quite possibly the most delicious thing he's ever eaten.

"Oh Honey, you've got a little something on your—"

Before Queenie can hand him the napkin she's holding Credence darts his tongue out, slowly swiping it along his upper lip to collect the escaped filling.

Queenie starts to giggle quietly, her eyes wrinkle at the corners as she glances from him to Mr. Graves. "There's still a bit at the corner of your mouth, Sweetie," she announces, but this time she doesn't offer Credence the napkin; Doesn't even look at him, in fact. She's still watching Mr. Graves with an incredibly entertained expression.

"Oh, thanks." He murmurs, this time using his thumb to catch the rogue dollop of custard. It really is delicious. He brings the finger to his mouth and quietly sucks the digit clean. Queenie's damn near wheezing by now and Credence doesn't know why.

Mr. Graves clears his throat and Credence quickly looks up at him, snatching his thumb from between his lips. The tips of the older man's ears are bright red, his neck is flushed and his breaths are short and shallow. Warm brown eyes have darkened until they're nearly black. Credence hopes that he's okay.

Queenie has stopped making noises entirely, eyes squeezed shut and one hand covering her mouth while her body rocks with silent laughter. She's gently tapping the table with her other hand.

Credence gives her a confused look before turning back to Mr. Graves, whose throat clicks as he swallows.

They're both acting so _strange_.

"Thank you Mr. Graves, it's delicious." Credence breaks through the bizarre quiet. He takes another bite and gives the older wizard a warm smile.

"...Yes, _it is_." Mr. Graves replies huskily. His eyes have zoned in on Credence's mouth. The man blinks a few times, closes his eyes for a moment and straightens his posture. "Well, I...I need to get going. Things to do and such. Just wanted to give you that."

Queenie has reeled in her giggles enough to wave a hand at the standing man. "Mr. Graves, _surely_ you can join us for a bit! Why don't you pull up a seat by _Credence?"_ She offers a mischievous smile.

For reasons unknown to him, Mr. Graves shoots Queenie a sharp glare. "I appreciate the offer _Miss Goldstein_ , but I'm afraid I must decline. Paperwork won't do itself."

The man adjusts his suit jacket before turning to Credence, "I'll see you after a while. I'm glad you enjoyed it," and with that he turns and strides out of the cafe'.

A long, low whistle draws his attention back to Queenie. She's sitting there looking like the cat that got the cream as she absently picks at her salad, smiling sweetly at Credence.

"That _sure was nice_ of Mr. Graves to bring you a treat." She comments, spearing a cucumber with her fork. It gives a soft crunch when she bites into it.

"I thought so, too." Credence sighs softly, tucking in the last morsel of his dessert with relish. Mr. Graves took the time to grab a pastry from the staff break room just for Credence. He really is kind.

Queenie hums softly and raises a dainty eyebrow. "I didn't know there were eclairs in the break room."

Credence paused his chewing. Now that he thinks about it he doesn't remember eclairs ever being a part of the daily pastry delivery. There were always scones, fritters, and tea cakes but never _eclairs_. Credence swallows hard.

He can hear Queenie chuckle behind her glass. She finishes her beverage, sets the cup down and begins cleaning up their table. "Looks like Mr. Graves made a _special_ little trip somewhere to get you that," she gives a wink as she rises out of her chair.

Credence blushes but collects his own tray and thoughtfully follows her.

*

Thankfully the rest of the day went by without a hitch.

Queenie and Credence went through their second and third rounds of coffee and tea deliveries and before they knew it it was time to clean up and go home. She hadn't laughed at him anymore but she did spend the rest of the day walking around with a knowing smile looking far too happy. Whenever he asked her about it she would just smile wider, shrug and say "I'm sure you'll find out soon enough."

It was annoyingly cryptic which just wasn't like Queenie. Everyone knew if you wanted the latest gossip you went to Goldstein in canteen. She lived for the interesting little tidbits of information she discovered from chatty minds and was practically the Holy Grail of tittle-tattle. So Credence was understandably fussy that she refused to tell him what was going on. He had asked later after their second break if she had managed to read anything off Mr. Graves, but all she told him was that she hadn't needed to and gave a wink.

She knew _something_.

They said their goodbyes at the little alcove by the entryway, Queenie giving him a big hug and telling him not to worry about it. He bitterly thought that _yes, now I won't think about it at all. Thanks Queenie_.

"Such sass." She chuckles approvingly before fluttering her hand as she turns to leave, but not before bidding him a good night, telling him that she'll see him in the morning.

Credence sighs softly and plays with a stray thread within the seam of his inner pocket, knowing that Mr. Graves will be along shortly.

Miss Tina once told him that Mr. Graves used to be the first one in and the last to leave the office, but that had changed ever since he and Credence started sharing a home.

On one hand, Credence thought that was good, healthy even, that the man wasn't working himself ragged. On the other, he couldn't help feeling guilty that he might have messed up Mr. Graves' routine. Was he happy? Work was his life, after all. Now he pulled a normal 9 to 5 like anybody else, only staying over if it was important.

Maybe he would ask Mr. Graves about it.

Credence was pulled from his thoughts by the soft tap of shoes heading his way. Mr. Graves had his suit jacket tucked on one arm and held his thermos with the opposing hand, just like every afternoon. Credence would never tell him, but he enjoyed seeing Mr. Graves in his waistcoat and shirt sleeves the best. The man was always immaculately dressed for work, not a single hair out of place, so it was nice seeing him so casual.

It had been slightly jarring when he saw the man for the first time with the top buttons of his shirt undone, tie loosened and hanging from his neck and his shirt sleeves meticulously rolled up past the elbows. He had been nursing a _Firewhisky_ in his study, casually leaning against the arm of the sofa.

To say that Credence's brain short-circuited from the sight was an understatement.

Feeling a little hot under the collar Credence blinks rapidly in attempts to banish those memories. Mr. Graves flashes him a smile.

"Ready to go?" He questions in his gravelly baritone.

"Yes." Credence nods and follows the other man down the stairs and out the door being held open for them. They both bid farewell to the doorman and walk a block to Apparate home.

*

Their after work routine was the same every day.

They would come home, Mr. Graves would begin the process of getting comfortable by undoing his tie and rolling up his sleeves while Credence would disappear into his room for a moment to hang his suit jacket (and try to calm his beating heart from the sight of Mr. Graves' ritual). Afterwards they would meet in Mr. Graves' study where the man would have a few fingers of whiskey already poured by the time Credence walks in. Then they would sit together on the sofa working through Credence's spell and charm books, occasionally having him practice a few.

Credence had an official tutor that would come by on the weekends to work with him. A salt-and-pepper bearded man in his early forties with a kind smile and a patient demeanor. Mr. Dubois.

He never raised his voice or talked down to Credence and would always praise him when progress was made. Mr. Graves had told him that they went to school together back in his Ilvermorny years.

Mr. Graves trusted him and that was good enough for Credence.

With Dubois and Graves both teaching him, Credence began to fly through the books at a swift pace with relative ease. He took naturally to magic and most spells he attempted were successful on the first try. Mr. Dubois had cheerfully informed them that Credence would most likely be able to take the mandated tests and graduate in a matter of three years with how quickly he was learning. Mr. Graves had beamed at Credence with pride. No one had ever looked at him that way before.

So they go through a few chapters, with Mr. Graves reading aloud, leisurely sipping his drink and Credence stopping him with an occasional question. It was well into the evening when Mr. Graves marked the page they were on and set his empty glass aside, having finished his third refill ages ago.

"Shall we get started on dinner?" The older wizard questions as he stands, placing the book on the low coffee table in front of them. Credence nods as his stomach loudly voices its approval as well, much to his embarrassment.

Mr. Graves chuckles softly. "How does stew sound?"

Credence perks up. The stew Mr. Graves makes is an old family recipe and it is _divine_. Thick and rich with lamb, potatoes, carrots, cabbage and onions.

Definitely one of his favorites.

"That sounds wonderful, Mr. Graves."

They work together, side by side, to make dinner the No-Maj way. It could be done with magic, of course but the first time they cooked together Mr. Graves told him that he preferred it this way, saying that there's certain things that need to be done by hand, and cooking is one of them. He said that it was an intimate process and love just made the food taste better. No, Credence's heart didn't melt. _No sir._

Credence chopped his way through vegetables while Mr. Graves diced and seasoned the lamb, setting a skillet to heat with a drizzle of olive oil. There was something incredibly therapeutic about this; The audible clicks and crunches as he sliced through cabbage, the soft sizzle of the pan as the meat browned. Not to mention the intoxicating aroma that wafted through the room as it all came together. The whole thing was indulgently domestic.

Credence scraped the diced onions in with the meat Mr. Graves was stirring and watched him for a moment. He liked seeing this side of the man. He was more stern faced and serious at work, but here he was relaxed and softer. Credence was sure that nobody else, except perhaps aside from family, has ever seen him like this.

They finish cooking and Mr. Graves ladles a generous portion of stew into two bowls. Credence slices from a fresh loaf of bread, enough for their meal, and retrieves butter to place on the table before pouring two glasses of lemonade.

The clink and tap of utensils fills the space in between soft conversation. They talk about their day and the Quidditch teams they think are going to make it to the finals. Credence mentions his studies and which chapters he's excited to begin. Mr. Graves tells him about one of the smaller cases that his department is working on and that he's sure they'll have it closed by the end of the week.

The horror from earlier that morning melts away and Credence is finally able to relax.

Empty bowls, glasses and silverware are sent to the sink to wash themselves (That is one thing I will not do by hand, Mr. Graves had stated), and bellies are full. Credence stifles a yawn and pushes his chair out to stand.

"How about some dessert?" My. Graves asks softly, rising from his chair to open the freezer and retrieve two plastic containers. Credence doesn't remember seeing them and wonders when Mr. Graves had picked them up. One container is set in front of him and he opens it to find a banana split, lifting his head to gape at the other man.

"I saw these and couldn't resist, picked them up this morning when I got your eclair." Mr. Graves declares while pulling open a drawer to grab two spoons. He hands one to Credence before sitting. "Charmed to stay fresh, "he adds as he opens his own container.

Credence blinks a couple times but slides his chair back in. "Thank you Mr. Graves, it looks great."

He slices through a banana with his spoon, making sure to get a scoop of ice cream and strawberry sauce as well. Oh, and it is fresh, as if they themselves just prepared it only moments before.

"Good?" Mr. Graves brings his own spoon to his mouth and watches him, the hint of a smile in his gaze.

Credence's eyes flutter at the the taste. Sweet and tangy and so delicious. He nods, getting another spoonful. "I didn't know you had a sweet tooth," he says softly before taking another bite.

Mr. Graves smiles around his spoon, warm brown eyes never leaving Credence. He pulls it out and dips it back into his dessert for another scoop.

"I find that I've developed one recently."

Curious, Credence tilts his head at this statement but doesn't say anything.

They eat their desserts in a peaceful silence. Credence eagerly digs into his ice cream, scraping creamy bites with his lips into his mouth, absentmindedly running his tongue along the dip of his spoon to collect the sweet remnants there.

As he's taking his final bite, a line of ice cream that has melted drips from the utensil to splatter onto the fingers of his left hand.

"Whoops."

Without thinking Credence lifts his hand to his mouth and carefully suckles each digit, licking between the webbing of his index and middle finger. There's a trail of melted ice cream that has traveled past his hand and down to the delicate skin of his inner wrist, and he quickly laps that up as well before freezing, eyes snapping to meet Mr. Graves heated stare.

The older man hasn't said a single word, and realization dawns on Credence that the man must have witnessed the entire thing.

How _uncivilized_ he must look.

Mr. Graves' lips are parted just so and his chest is rising and falling with short, shallow breaths. His pupils are blown wide and he's clutching his spoon in a white knuckle grip. A rosy flush sits patchy against the long expanse of his neck, and he's still staring at Credence with an expression that sends a shiver along his skin.

The older wizard blinks several times and clears his throat, seemingly coming out of some sort of daze.

Credence stands abruptly, sending his spoon to the sink and tossing the empty container in the bin.

"I-I...um, thank you again for dessert Mr. Graves. I'm...I'm going to take shower."

With that said, Credence makes a hasty exit, shamefully bolting to his room once out of Mr. Graves' line of sight.

Why couldn't he do anything right?

*


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Warning for brief sexual content*
> 
> ((Tags have been updated))

Credence had showered and returned to his room to avoid Mr. Graves like the plague. He was so ashamed of his table manners. Why had he slurped on his fingers like a damn dog? Mr. Graves didn't want to see that! He was probably disgusted, and Credence absolutely couldn't blame him. He spent the time in his room pacing and thinking.

Well, less thinking and more beating himself up. But _damn it_ , he knew _better than that_.

He crawled into bed once he finally tired himself out, lying on his back to stare at the ceiling and prayed that tomorrow would be better.

*

Morning came and with it the usual rich fragrance of Mr. Graves brewing coffee.

Unfortunately it brought consciousness as well, and with conscious thought came the rush of mortifying memories from last night. Credence groaned softly and pulled his pillow from under his head to cover his face. Perhaps if he smothered himself he wouldn't have to get up and face Mr. Graves.

What would he say?

Would he tell him how awful it had been to watch him do that? Would he explain how disappointed he was with him? Or worse, would he not say anything at all? Maybe he would just stand there with his coffee and sneer down at him.

Death by smothering was starting to sound like a _fantastic_ idea.

After what felt like an eternity Credence forced himself to get out of bed, and in a desperate ploy to buy a little more time he sprinted to the bathroom. Once he closed and locked the door behind him he leans his back against it and sighs. He doesn't know how he can face the other man. Maybe if he pretends nothing happened Mr. Graves will go along with it. It's the best he can hope for.

With another drawn out sigh Credence pushes himself off the door and goes about brushing his teeth.

The bathroom is spacious yet modest, with a sink, commode and a gorgeous claw foot tub that also has a shower head. He can remember the first time he took a bath in it, shivering in delight at the luxury of bathing with hot water and actually being able to stretch his legs without bending them to fit. That was the night he moved in with Mr. Graves.

He rinses his toothbrush and places it back into the holder before looking at himself in the mirror. With a grimace he turns on the tap to wet his hands and combs his fingers through his hair in an effort to tame it. He no longer had the dreadful bowl cut his adoptive mother had given since he was eight. Instead, his hair has been cut by Mr. Graves' barber into a trendy undercut, not unlike the one the man himself has. The difference between theirs is that Credence's fade isn't as dramatic, and there's hair he can actually run his fingers through at the nape. He also chooses to part and sweep his hair to the side as opposed to straight back.

Credence smears a bit of pomade between the tips of his fingers and begins working it into his hair until he was satisfied with how it looks. Washing his hands, he contemplates shaving for a moment when a knock at the door startles him. Mildly panicked he dries his hands and turns to unlock and open the door. A sharp intake of breath greets him.

Mr. Graves is standing in the doorway holding his coffee mug, fully dressed and ready for work. A strange expression crosses his face and his jaw clenches as he examines Credence quietly. The man swallows audibly and licks his lips. Credence can't help when his eyes follow the motion, but he does tear them away as quickly as it happens.

The older wizard clears his throat before speaking. "I-I just wanted to make sure you were getting ready. It's almost time to head in." Mr. Graves looks like he's fighting to keep eye contact with the younger man. Credence's stomach drops.

"I'm sorry Mr. Graves, I overslept a bit. I'll be ready soon." He rushes through the lie and mindlessly twists his fingers in the fabric at his hips. The stare Mr. Graves is giving makes him squirm and shuffle from one foot to the other. It also ignites heat in his stomach and he struggles miserably to keep his breathing steady.

Mr. Graves releases a shaky breath and nods.

"I'll just leave you to that," he rasps before turning on his heel to walk down the hall and back into the kitchen. Credence notices how stiffly he's moving.

He also happens to notice, upon looking down, that he's wearing nothing but his union suit.

Credence lets out a choked noise and scrambles to his bedroom, accidentally slamming the door in the process. That's it, he was definitely going to smother himself with a pillow.

There's no coming back from that.

No wonder Mr. Graves had stared at him so intensely. He was practically walking around the man's house _naked!_

He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs but instead he willed himself to go to the armoire and get dressed quickly. He can't wallow in despair now, there wasn't nearly enough time for it.

When Credence had dressed and collected his wand, he bitterly steps out of his room, pulling the door closed and heads to the kitchen. Mr. Graves is sitting at the table reading his morning paper and sipping coffee. He appears composed as usual, nothing like moments before when he stood outside of the bathroom. He looks up when Credence enters.

"About ready?" The older wizard questions with a cheerful tone, his voice is strangely soft and even. He doesn't sound angry or disgusted or scandalized. He sounds normal. Credence blinks.

"Uh, yeah I'm ready whenever you are," he replies meekly and Mr. Graves flashes him one of the small, handsome smiles and Credence's knees quiver.

How does this man have so much power over him?

*

They arrive at work and go their separate ways, Graves shooting Credence one more spine-melting grin before they part, and he feels like he can breath again. He works on schooling his thoughts and facial expression while he waits in the alcove, and it doesn't take long for him to hear Queenie's high heeled shoes clicking as she approaches him. He doesn't have to say a word because he knows that she's already read his mind based off of the playful smile on her lips.

"Can't catch a break, huh Sweetie?"

Credence doesn't bother with an answer, only glares halfheartedly as she chuckles.

"C'mon, lets go start the day," she chirps as they link their arms together as usual and leave the alcove. Credence can only hope that the day gets better from here.

*

Strangely enough the day _does_ get better.

Or at least the morning...

They've done their routine preparations and work through each floor, handing out drinks and snacks. By the time Credence leaves Mr. Graves office he's grinning and has a decadent slice of apple-crumble cheesecake squirreled away on his cart. At some point the older man ventured out of the Woolworth building to get it for him, and Credence takes that as a sign that everything is okay.

The MLE department is next in his rotation, and as always he's immediately surrounded by bright-eyed Aurors when he enters.

When he had first come to MACUSA after the subway he had been met with wary, and even judging, stares. They followed him everywhere he went, dubious eyes constantly watching and evaluating.

After Mr. Graves was found and returned back to work those stares eased up. Credence didn't know if the man had said something to them or if maybe he himself had proven that he could be trusted. Either way, as the months carried on and he worked closely with other witches and wizards, he found himself being accepted, and that was the best feeling in the world.

The Aurors began talking to him little by little with every coffee and pastry delivered. They started asking him about his day and actually listened. It wasn't long before they were cracking smiles and attempting to make him laugh with cheesy jokes. The complete switch had taken his breath away. Even now he felt giddy as they all gathered around him, offering cheerful greetings. He steps away from the cart and allows them do as they please.

"Morning Barebone." Weiss murmurs, helping herself to the pot of coffee.

" _Hey_ Barebone!" Fontaine cries energetically as he cozies up next to him, eyes scanning the selection. "Whatcha got for us today?" The man asks before reaching out to snag a doughnut.

"Did Graves get the last danish _again?_ " Lopez groans, settling for an apple turnover.

"Barebone, ya hear what happened to Abernathy yesterday?" Fischer drawls with a smile, taking a sip of coffee.

Credence chats with each Auror and basks in the warm sensation of belonging. There are no more hesitant looks or awkward conversations. There's only polite friendliness and shared laughter.

_And Mr. Graves headed right for them_.

" _Graves!_ " Fontaine exclaims, throwing a hand up. "How's it going, bossman?"

Mr. Graves raises a dark eyebrow.

"Fontaine. You're awfully perky this morning." He comments before turning his gaze to Credence, and his eyes visibly soften as he looks at him.

" _Of course_ I am, sir. Barebone here is the best part of our day." Fontaine croons affectionately and claps a hand to Credence's back before giving his shoulder a friendly squeeze.

"Yeah boss, he brings the coffee." Lopez chimes around a full mouth as he walks by.

"Could you be any more repulsive?" Weiss chides, throwing the man a disgusted look.

"You _love me!_ " Lopez shoots back with a wink.

Mr. Graves shakes his head at the group before zoning in on Fontaine.

"Have you got that report on the fraudulent wand case finished like I asked?" He questions, folding his arms behind his back.

Fontaine takes a bite out of his doughnut. "I was working on it and then this lovely _angel_ here descended from the heavens with promises of caffeine," he winks at Credence, causing him to blush, "I may have gotten momentarily distracted. I'll have it to you soon, Chief."

Mr. Graves narrows his eyes at the other man, effectively glaring at him.

"Well, I suggest that you _stop tormenting_ Mr. Barebone and get it done immediately. It had better be on my desk within an hour, unless you'd like to paper push for a month. Is that understood, Fontaine?" Mr. Graves smirks briefly before the expression drops from his face.

The other man audibly swallows and bobs his head affirmatively. "Yes, sir," Fontaine shoves the rest of the doughnut into his mouth.

Credence was in the process of planning his escape when a shout rings out and he suddenly finds himself drenched from head to toe. Shocked, he looks down to where his clothes cling tightly to his body. His shirt and waistcoat are plastered to him in an uncomfortable embrace, displaying every curve of his chest, and his pants are gripping his hips and thighs mercilessly. His dark hair sticks to his forehead, dripping into his eyes and he has beads of liquid trickling down his exposed skin. He finally lifts his head with a bewildered expression.

Several Aurors stare with their mouths agape looking just as perplexed as he does. The source of the impromptu shower is a young Junior Auror. His eyes are wide and his mouth repeatedly opens and closes, as if he were struggling to find words.

Mr. Graves stands beside him with a surprised look on his face, eyes following the line of his body and lingering at his hips. The pulse in Mr. Graves' throat flutters, his jaw clenches and he swallows hard. When he eventually meets the younger man's eyes they are intense and hungry.

That changed instantly as Mr. Graves turned on the Junior Auror.

"Can you please explain to me _what the hell_ just happened?" He barks at the young man. His gaze shifts from dark smoldering to simmering fury in a matter of seconds.

The Junior Auror stutters through an apology and explains that he was just trying to refill the teapot when he was accidentally bumped and sent water flying from his wand.

Mr. Graves grits his teeth and opens his mouth to speak but Credence quickly interjects, "It's okay Mr. Graves, it was just an accident," he pulls his wand out and casts a quick drying spell on himself, "It's just a bit of water, nothing to worry about."

The older man turns back to look at him and his eyes become gentle. "I'm not angry that you got wet. I'm mostly upset that an accident happened in the first place. It's one thing if it's a harmless _Aguamenti_ , but what if it had been something that wasn't so harmless?" Mr. Graves places a hand on Credence's back and strokes between his shoulders.

The younger wizard shivers at the sensation.

The director stares at him for a long moment before turning back to the young man responsible. His gaze hardens a bit, but not as intensely as earlier.

"You better take care when you're casting spells in the future, because there won't be a next time if something like this happens again. Harmless or not."

Mr. Graves gives Credence's neck a gentle squeeze before pulling away, causing him to mourn the loss of contact in silence.

" _Don't you all have work to do?_ " The director raises his voice, eyes locking onto each and every person. There's a loud chorus of Yes, sir! before Mr. Graves offers Credence a small smile and leaves the room.

The Junior Auror rushes over and apologizes profusely. Credence reassures him that it's okay and that no harm was done. The rest of the Aurors have seemingly heeded Mr. Graves unspoken threat because they've all returned to work.

Fontaine walks past Credence with papers in his hands and leans in, "I'd have hate to seen Mr. Graves if you'd been hit with anything other than a water spell," he says quietly before striding off.

Credence agrees with him.

*

The time ticks away, Credence and Queenie meet for lunch and he lets her read his mind so he doesn't have to recount the incident in DMLE out loud. She comforts and assures him that the Junior Auror isn't in any danger of losing his job, as Credence had feared. She tells him that Mr. Graves was just being overprotective, and when he points out that it was nothing but an Aquamenti she shakes her head and says that it doesn't matter. Graves would be protective even if it someone had simply bumped into him. Queenie grips his hand and gives it a squeeze, telling him not to worry about it.

Lunch is finished and they return to work. The afternoon seems to drag along at a snails pace and Credence wills time to go faster.

It's during their last break, as they quietly relax, Queenie taking a quiz in one of her magazines and Credence sipping hot tea, that Miss Tina walks into canteen. She greets the two of them with a wave of her hand and pulls up a chair.

Queenie twirls a fountain pen between her delicate fingers and sets aside the magazine. "I'm surprised to see you back so soon. Usually when Mr. Graves gives you an assignment you're gone until after quittin' time."

Tina sighs softly and reaches to pluck a cream puff from the nearest cart.

"Graves has got me doing interviews for an illegal potions smuggling case, and I pretty much have all the information I need. It's just _so boring_." She mumbles, taking a bite out of the pastry. Whipped cream smudges the corner of her upper lip.

The blonde witch hums sympathetically and asks, "Are you done with it for the day?" as she picks up the magazine and makes a few marks on one of the pages, presumably continuing the quiz.

Her sister nods and takes another bite.

"At least for now," she says before turning to Credence, "So I heard that you had a delightful time in DMLE this morning."

Credence groans. "I've had a delightful two days, I wish they were like this all the time, he grumbles before taking a sip of tea. He just can't seem to keep from messing up and Mr. Graves is there for every blunder.

Queenie crosses one leg over the other and reclines in her chair. "Cree, _I told you_ it was okay. Mr. Graves ain't mad like you think he is."

He finishes the tea and sets it down on the saucer. "How do you know? It's not like you can read his mind," he points out and fingers at a crease on his trousers above the knee.

The blonde witch smiles softly.

"Oh _Honey_ , I don't have to be able to read his mind to know. That man might think he's got the world's best mask, but it _definitely_ slips some times."

Tina shoots her sister a curious look and questions, "Did something happen?" before popping the rest of the puff into her mouth.

Credence groans under his breath and leans back, remaining silent. He's secretly thankful that the older Goldstein doesn't share her sisters unique talent. Queenie chuckles at that.

"Credence has had an eventful couple of days with Mr. Graves," she flips a page.

"Eventful? I think the word you're looking for is _mortifying_ ," he mumbles before collecting his empty tea cup and standing.

Tina quirks an eyebrow as she watches him. "It can't be any worse than what happened to _Abernathy_ yesterday. I've never seen the man look so haunted.

"Oh, it was bad. Let's just say that I've had enough humiliation to last a lifetime."

Credence sets the dishes off to the side with the others and pulls out his wand. He casts a cleaning charm before sending them off to stack on a waiting table.

Queenie slips out of her chair and crouches by her sister. She's whispering something into the other woman's ear that causes her eyebrows to shoot up to her hairline. Tina opens and closes her mouth, looking at Credence with a peculiar expression before turning to her sister.

"You're _serious?_ " She whispers, but Credence still manages to hear her.

Queenie nods, causing her blonde curls to bounce around her face. "That man has _got it bad_." She whispers back before standing straight.

What does she mean by _that man has got it bad?_ Is she referring to Mr. Graves? What does he have bad? Is he sick like Credence had suspected? That could explain why the man has been acting so weird.

He's never been so confused.

Shaking her head, Queenie walks over to Credence and places a hand on his arm. "He's not sick, Sweetie. He's—" she pauses, glancing at her sister. They share a strange look that makes Credence itch to say just spit it out. She exhales softly. "Mr. Graves really _cares_ about you, Cree, and he enjoys being around you. I'm sure you've noticed, at least a little?"

Credence scratches his head. "Well, I mean he's always complimenting me and telling me how proud he is." She moves her hand to take his and gives it a little squeeze.

Tina rises from her chair to join them. "Credence, Mr. Graves is incredibly proud of you and I know for a fact that he adores you," she huffs a fond chuckle. "The man talks about you _constantly_ in the office."

He flushes. "Does he really?"

Tina levels him with a serious expression. "Let me just put it this way; I know enough that I could write a book and call it _The Ravings of a Besotted Fool_."

Credence swallows thickly.

Mr. Graves. _Besotted?_

There's _no way_. He shakes his head quickly in silent denial.

Queenie chuckles and brushes her long fingers through his hair. "Why don't you observe Mr. Graves a bit closer from now on. I'm sure things will start making sense soon."

Credence is about to beg her to just tell him what she means when the bell chimes letting them know that their break has come to an end.

Tina steals another pastry and tells them goodbye as she exits the room. Queenie gives him a soft smile and brief shoulder squeeze before walking over to her cart to prepare for their final rotation. Credence huffs softly but does the same, combing through his mind as he brews coffee and loads his cart with tea cakes and sandwiches, searching through his memories for the piece of the puzzle he's missing.

*

The work day comes to an end with Queenie and Credence saying their goodbyes in the alcove. She reminds him to be more observant with his interactions with Mr. Graves', and once again tells him not to worry. She leaves him with one final hug, disappearing down the steps and out of the building.

Mr. Graves appears shortly after, his handsome face relaxed as he collects Credence to leave. They exit the Woolworth building and start walking the block to the _Apparition_ point. Credence works up the nerve to ask the other man about his day and sighs quietly to himself in relief as the older wizard begins recounting it in a pleasant tone. Mr. Graves seems to be in a good mood despite this mornings incident.

They arrive home and begin their usual rituals. Credence enters his room and hangs his suit jacket in the armoire before toeing off his shoes, sliding them beneath it with his foot. When he enters the study Mr. Graves is already cradling a glass of _Firewhisky_ with one hand and yesterday's open spell book with the other. He glances up from the page when Credence steps in.

"I was thinking," Mr. Graves begins, taking a long sip of his whiskey, "I know we've been working on _transfiguration_ but how would you like to skip ahead and try something a little different today?"

"Will you teach me _Occlumency?_ " Credence blurts out, startling them both. He blinks rapidly and chews on his bottom lip, his cheeks flushing from embarrassment. Where did that come from?

_Oh no_ , this could very well be a bad idea.

Mr. Graves looks momentarily stunned, staring at Credence with an unreadable expression on his face. Without breaking eye contact he sets the book down and takes a step towards the younger wizard.

"Well, that's not exactly what I had in mind, but—" his gazes softens," What's this all about, Credence?"

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly uncomfortable as his cheeks continue to blaze. "I'm intrigued, is all, a-and It also doesn't seem like such a bad idea to have that skill."

_What are you talking about?_ It absolutely _is_ a bad idea. Credence attempts to keep his breathing even as the other man gazes directly at him.

"You do understand what _Occlumency_ training entails, do you not?" Mr. Graves questions as he sets his glass down on the coffee table.

"I do. I can handle it." Credence answers, but it's no more than a whisper.

Mr. Graves considers him for a moment before subtly nodding to himself. "If that's what you want, Credence," he gestures to the sofa with a wave of his hand, "please have a seat."

The young wizard can hear his heart pounding in his ears, and all at once he feels too hot. He approaches the sofa, mindlessly unfastening the buttons at the base of his throat and loosening his tie. He catches Mr. Graves watching him closely out of the corner of his eye and for a moment he swears he can see the man lick his lips. Credence sits quietly, undoing his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves as if on autopilot.

Mr. Graves' eyes flutter for the briefest second. "Are you sure about this, Credence?"

"I'm sure, Mr. Graves."

The older wizard had taken his wand out but paused, glancing down at Credence.

"Sir?" He squeaks, his voice pitched embarrassingly high.

Mr. Graves flashes him a comforting smile before reaching out to give Credence's knee a soft squeeze. His hand is only there for a moment but within that short period of time the skin beneath ignited into a pleasurable scorch.

"I'd like it if you called me Percival." He murmurs huskily.

Credence feels his face prickle from the heat blazing there and he swallows thickly. 

"Okay... _Percival_."

Something flashes across Percival's eyes and disappears just as quickly before Credence has any time to analyze what it meant. The older man stepps closer and promptly kneels before him. That sight alone sends a shockwave of arousal down his spine to sizzle in his hips. He shifts uncomfortably and prays that Percival doesn't look down at is lap.

Percival lifts his hands, slowly moving them closer to Credence's face. "With Occlumency you're working to build up walls to keep the intruder out. Some people are unable to effectively create a mental wall, so often the best course of action is to distract the person with something mundane. We're going to attempt the latter first. Make sure you focus on a memory, try recalling every detail. Where were you? What were you doing? Could you smell anything? The temperature around you. Every detail is crucial." A calloused palm gently cups his cheek and the other hand grasps the wand loosely, hovering inches from Credence's head.

"I will attempt to breach your mind and I want you to use that memory to distract me while you try to push me out. Can you do that for me, Credence?"

The young wizard nods briskly causing the other man's hand to glide along his skin. He shivers at the sensation. Credence shuffles through his head in search of a memory to use and decides to go with the day he got his wand.

Percival gives him a reassuring smile, ghosting his thumb along heated flesh. "Ready?"

As soon as the younger man confirms, Percival places the tip of his wand directly to Credence's temple and murmurs, " _Legilimens_."

The spell is instantaneous.

Inside his mind he can feel his own presence and along the edges he can sense a familiar warmth pushing. That must be Percival. Credence quickly throws out the memory and begins to recount every detail.

_It had been a cold, rainy day and he could smell how wet the earth was. He remembers the soft tapping of rain drops along the sidewalk as he and Percival entered Jonker's—_

The memory begins to fade in places as Percival pushes forward in his mind.

Credence desperately clings to its threads.

_The shop was warm and there was a small group of other witches and wizards standing by the counter. He could smell the wood and lacquer. He remembered how much he liked that scent—_

The memory abruptly shatters and Credence is left reeling, digging wildly for a new mental defense. Percival's presence hovers near the edge, seemingly giving Credence a chance to grasp another memory. Credence is a bit shocked the man is going so easy on him.

Suddenly at a loss of what memory to use, Credence starts rapidly cycling through his short term memories. He throws up images of the last week.

_Knocking over his cart in Percival's office_ —That thought is broken through quickly— _Him and Percival preparing dinner_ —brushed away like a fleck of dust — _Credence returning to the barber to get his touched up_ —gone before it even clicked into place.

Try as he might, Credence is unable to keep an intact memory up. Percival pushes and brushes past each one. The young wizard panics and goes into overtime, slinging memories left and right.

_He sees himself at the church. He's eleven years old. A strange woman had just knocked on the door holding an even stranger letter. Ma had been furious. She ripped up the letter and demanded his belt—_

_He's standing in an alley. He doesn't know how he got there. It's cold and he won't stop shivering. Black wisps are tickling his skin—_

Credence forces himself to slow down and ease away from his darker reveries. He blindly reaches out and throws a random image to the forefront of his mind. It was the _worst_ possible memory he could have picked.

_He's been living with Mr. Graves for a couple of months now. He's lying in bed and it's the middle of the night. His belly is full and he had spent the whole evening talking and laughing with the older wizard. He can remember the scent of his cologne, how it washed over him enticingly. How the man's warm eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at Credence. The way Mr. Graves scooted closer on the sofa to read a passage from the book together. Their hands brushed—_

_Credence had laid in bed that night panting, boldly cupping himself through the fabric of his union suit. He was so hard and aching. He had started to undo the buttons, just enough to slip his hand in and brush his trembling fingers along his swelling length. He swallowed hard and gripped himself, moaning brokenly as a bead of precum bloomed from his flushed slit—_

There was a spinning sensation and Credence realizes he is back in the study. He blinks rapidly, unshed tears clinging to his dark lashes and shakily swallows lungfuls of air before hesitantly looking at the man still kneeling before him.

Percival stares intensely with dark, glossy eyes. The tips of his ears are scarlet and his entire neck is vibrantly flushed. Credence can practically feel the heat rolling off of the man.

Credence is about to bolt when Percival suddenly grips his hand. He hasn't broken his gaze—in fact, he's studying the younger man's face.

Credence is beyond mortified.

He can't _do this_. Of all the memories for him to see, it had to be _that_ one, and he can feel the painful rush of humiliation building within him. He just wants to run— _To get away_ —To forget that he had even asked to do this. It had truly been an idiotic idea, and now Percival had seen his most intimate moment.

"That was a great first attempt, Credence." Percival says in a low, hoarse voice.

Wait. _What?_

Credence blinks a few times, confused. "—What?"

Percival smiles softly at him, running a trembling thumb along his knuckles. "If you're unable to hold onto a single thought to distract, shuffling around like that can certainly do the trick."

He releases Credence's hand and gives his knee a gentle pat before standing.

"Very impressive for your first time. I'm proud of you."

Credence stares with his mouth agape, struggling to process what just happened. Percival wasn't disgusted with him? He was proud? _How_ —

He didn't know what to think or how to feel right now.

The older wizard walks back to where his _Firewhisky_ waits and lifts the glass, swiftly throwing back its contents with a soft exhale before moving to the liquor cabinet for a refill.

Credence felt like he could use a drink, too.

*


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to @foggys_cupcake_girl for helping me out a bit this chapter ❤️
> 
> (Thanks for the idea, love!!! 🥰)

Credence attempted to block out everything that happened during the  _ Occlumency _ lesson. He refused to think about it, feeling mind-numbing despair whenever he did. He regretted asking Mr. Gra— Percival to teach him.

The man had acted so calmly afterwards, attempting to squash Credence's doubts with praise and comfort. They had both agreed to call it an early night with studies and instead sat together on the sofa and talked. Not once did Percival mention the last memory. The young wizard was immensely thankful for that.

Credence noticed a shift in the man following the failed lesson (though, Percival was adamant that he did well). He could see out of the corner of his eye how the older wizard was watching him, his heated gaze lingering for extended periods of time. His fingers twitched occasionally like he was itching to touch the youth, and sometimes he did. Fingers grazing when Credence handed him a cup at dinner, placing a hand on his back, their thighs pressed flush as they sat in the study. Percival had even pulled him into a warm embrace before they turned in for the night.

Percival was so solid and warm. His spicy cologne and pleasantly clean scent assaulted Credence's senses in the best way, leaving him intoxicated. The young wizard shivered in delight when Percival's hand passed in a soft caress along his lower back. It was soothing and cozy and over  _ much _ too soon.

Credence exhaled a shaky breath once in the confines of his room and crawled into bed. Something had shifted between them tonight in the study and he wasn't so sure that it was a bad thing. He dared to think back on the word Tina had used earlier.

_ Besotted. _ Was it possible?

No. There was  _ no way._

Mr. Gra— Percival was a  _ million _ miles out of his league. He's a handsome, successful director of magical security with over a dozen handpicked Aurors under his command. He's powerful and rich, with one of the oldest bloodlines in America. Credence wasn't ignorant to how the man turned heads—how women and men alike gazed at him longingly, flashing flirtatious smiles and winks. He could have anyone his heart desired.

He didn't want Credence.

Credence; Former obscurial and damaged orphan who spent over twenty years living an abused No-Maj life. Barely a Dragot to his name. He's lanky and awkward with too sharp features and he's always tripping or knocking stuff over. He's basically a walking disaster.

No, it was _inconceivable_.

Running a hand against his forehead Credence huffed loudly and rolled over, facing away from the door. He was half-tempted to snatch a  _Dreamless Sleep_ draught from the potions cabinet in Percival's study, but thought better of it. He didn't want to have to explain himself when the older man inevitably discovered one missing. He knew they could be addictive as well and didn't want to chance it. He'd either find sleep on his own or lie there miserable until it was time to get up.

Sleep finally took him after three hours of tossing and turning, his final waking thoughts filled with intense, heated brown eyes.

*

The smell of coffee was not the only thing to greet Credence the next morning. The tantalizing aroma of bacon also accompanied it. It must be earlier than he usually gets up if breakfast is being made.

Credence cracked open an eye as his stomach rumbled traitorously. He originally thought he wouldn't be eager to get out of bed after what happened last night but now he found himself being coaxed by the scent of breakfast.

He slung the comforter off of himself and draped his legs over the side of the bed. With a long stretch and yawn he forced himself to stand and walk to his armoire to get dressed. He threw on the usual shirt, waistcoat and trousers before retrieving his shoes from beneath and slipping into them. Y-Back suspenders in place, he collected his wand and suit jacket as he did every morning and left his room. He doesn't bother to fix his hair yet, instead walking to the kitchen in pursuit of those enticing smells.

The sound of bacon sizzling fills his ears, along with the soft clink and clatter of dishes. The sight that greets him is a thing of beauty and he finds himself frozen in the kitchens archway.

Percival is at the stove turning bacon. He's wearing one of his silk dressing robes, smooth black silk with gold embroidery. His hair is mussed, a few strands hanging down against his forehead and theres dark stubble along his jaw. The man is standing there looking like a four course meal and Credence is definitely  _ starving _ . He also might be having difficulty breathing, but one issue at a time.

Credence watches as the older man sets the bacon aside and starts cracking eggs into the same pan. He's finished that and picks up his coffee for a sip. That's when he notices Credence.

"Good morning." Percival says in a sleep-raspy voice. "I was just getting ready to come wake you," he chuckles softly (and doesn't that just  _ do things _ to Credence?) as he takes in the young wizards state of dress, "but it looks like you beat me to the punch."

Credence blinks like an idiot before forcing himself into the kitchen, draping his suit jacket along the back of his chair. "The smell woke me," he confesses softly before adding, "Not a terrible way to wake up, honestly."

Percival chuckles and it's deep and warm and Credence thinks it's his favorite sound in the whole world. He would bathe in it if that were physically possible.

"You're absolutely right." The older man agrees, taking one more sip of his coffee before setting it down to turn back to the task at hand. Credence finds the courage to approach and does so. He's moving towards the counter beside Percival when the man suddenly turns and they nearly collide.

Credence's hands shoot out to prevent himself from falling forward. 

Percival looks surprised and quickly brackets his hands on the other man's arms to steady him. They stare at each other for one long, breathless moment before Credence looks down to where he's gripping Percival by the hips. They're firm, yet slender under his finger-tips, and he can feel the ripple of muscle beneath the silk when the other man moves. He's so caught up with unconsciously kneading the flesh with his hands that it doesn't even occur to him to let go.

When it finally registers in his brain that he's essentially coping a feel Credence releases him as though he's been burned and jerks back.

"Okay there?" Percival speaks just about a whisper, still holding Credence by the biceps as he searches the younger man's face.

They're close enough that Credence can count every individual eyelash, and he's also able to see flecks of gold in the man's irises that he's never noticed before.

"I—uh yeah, I'm okay," Credence croaks, "I'm sorry Mr. Gra—Percival. Are you okay? I should have said something."

Percival's chest rumbles with a husky laugh. "I'm fine, darling. There's no need to apologize." The man runs his hands down Credence's arms briefly before he pulls away, almost appearing reluctant to do so. "Why don't you have a seat? Eggs should be just about done."

Credence nods and it's a jerky, robotic motion. His mind reaches out and greedily grasps at the term of endearment.  _ Darling_ _?_ Surely that was a slip?

He pulls out his chair and drops into it. That's when he notices the glass sitting in front of him filled with orange juice. Percival must have poured it before he came in. The man really was thoughtful.  _Hm_.

The older wizard returns to the stove, waving a hand to summon plates and utensils while he casts a quick spell to toast slices of bread. He divides the eggs and bacon into two portions, as well as adding a generous helping of home-fries, and the meal floats gently to the table along with butter, toast, and sweet peach jam.

Percival refills his mug before taking a seat across from Credence. He glances at the younger man as he begins cutting up the eggs on his plate, throwing a casual wink.

Flushed, Credence takes a sip of orange juice and snags a strip of bacon, taking a bite. "Thank you for making breakfast, Percival," he says after they've sat quietly eating for a while.

"You're welcome, my boy," the other man hums and pierces several potatoes with his fork. "How would you like to go to Dragon Street this weekend after your studies with Benny?"

Credence quietly chuckles upon hearing Percival address Mr. Dubois by his first name. Well, he supposes they're old school friends so there's no need for them to be formal.

"I'd like that," he replies, balancing a piece of toast in his palm as he slathers it with soft butter and jam. Credence takes a bite before perking up, his mind helpfully pointing out that today is Friday.

"When did you want to go?"

Percival takes his last bite of potatoes before sending his dishes to the sink to wash, hands wrapping loosely around his mug.

"We could go tomorrow. Or Sunday, whichever you prefer."

Credence hums softly in consideration before eagerly asking, "Can we go tomorrow?"

It has been a while since they went to Dragon Street, and there were several shops that Credence wanted to visit while they were there. He felt enchanted each time they went, the spectacle of open magic in the streets never getting old. He doesn't think it ever will.

The older wizard has a pleased smile on his lips as he sips his coffee. "We certainly can."

*

They finish breakfast, Credence fixed his hair and Percival excused himself to get groomed and dressed. In no time Percival was there offering his arm for  _ Side-Along._

Credence was baffled to find himself in a pleasant mood, all things considered. He even felt bold enough to pull Percival in for a brief half-hug before they parted ways at the top of the entry stairs, much to the older man's surprised delight.

When Queenie meets him at the alcove she blessedly doesn't bring up any of his thoughts, though she does have a wicked gleam to her eyes as she grins and embraces him.

As they're preparing for the day she chooses to ask him how he is instead of picking the thoughts from his mind. He didn't know how much he needed that. He relents and decides to tell her about the botched  _ Occlumency _ lesson, but he leaves out the last bit. He doesn't want to say it out loud, for one and two, he knows she's already seen it.

She hummed sympathetically and patted the back of his hand, telling him that it would be okay and apologized if he felt like he needed to know how to shield his mind because of her.

Credence knows she can't help it sometimes. She's a natural  _ Legilimens  _ who can't turn it off and she's constantly picking up what's going on in almost every head around her. He can't fault her for that. 

He says as much and she throws him a little smile over her shoulder as she collects cups and spoons to place on her cart.

Credence is able to push his thoughts down as he wheels his cart around MACUSA, keeping his panic and anxiety to a minimum, as he works his way through each floor. He's halfway through his rotation, just making his way to Major Investigations when he hears heels clicking behind him. He turns to see Queenie striding briskly down the hall towards him.

He stops in his tracks and tilts his head curiously. "Queenie? Is everything okay?"

She's out of breath by the time she reaches him. "Yeah Honey, everything's fine. I just came to tell ya there's gonna be a staff meeting in a couple of hours and Madam President wants us to serve it. It's gonna be a luncheon for a few different departments."

Credence tenses so hard his muscles scream at him. "Luncheon?  Just the _two of us_ _?_ " His mind must be a chaotic roar of anxiety, because Queenie is quick to grab his arm and gently shush him.

"Sweetie, it's not gonna be as bad as it sounds," she reaches out and brushes a stray strand of hair away from his brow, "Everything is being ordered off site from a restaurant and brought here. All we've gotta do is pass out the food and drinks. Okay?"

Credence furrows his brows in confusion, "Aren't there house-elves that usually do that?"

Queenie smiles wearily, "Not anymore. That's why you see witches serving lunch in the cafe'."

Gripping the handle of his cart, Credence inhales a couple of slow breaths to calm himself. "Okay," he manages to squeak out, "What about—" he gestures weakly at the cart.

"Oh, don't worry about that," she waves her hand dismissively, "I actually came to get you so we can head back and get started on preparing everything."

Credence pales but manages to nod, turning the cart around to follow after the blonde witch. 

What's the worst that could happen?

*

MACUSA has spared no expense when lunch is ordered. It's from a ritzy place called  _ Callahan's _ that caters strictly to the Wizarding community. It's ridiculously high-end and much too haughty for Credence's taste (though the dessert does look  incredible ). His eyes go comically wide when he spots numerous bottles of wine and spirits charmed to stay chilled. He didn't even know they could serve alcohol at work.

Queenie giggles as she flicks her wand to guide plates and glasses to shrink and stack neatly on an awaiting cart. "Not usually, no, but this is the semiannual conference where they discuss everything from finances to security. Madam President likes to splurge during these things."

Credence shakes his head while levitating and maneuvering cloth napkins to wrap around utensils. "I can see that," he mutters under his breath. He hopes they're able to have their own lunch break when it's over.

"Don't worry sweetie," she chimes in cheerfully, "We'll have our lunch after  and we don't have to bother with a second rotation. That's one of the perks of working the luncheon."

The rolled utensils stack in perfect uniform within a waiting container where they promptly shrink at the swish of his wand. Well, at least they might have a  somewhat pleasant day.

Suddenly a thought occurs to him. "Queenie, you said this is a semiannual thing...you were working by yourself in canteen when I started here—"

"Oh, sure. I served during the luncheon, but thankfully they gave me some help so I wasn't alone for it," she states with a quick smile.

"Well that's good," Credence sighs, feeling sympathetic relief for the blonde witch.

*

The premade food is kept in various containers, shrunk down like everything else for convenience, ready to be plated and served, and Credence can feel his pulse steadily thumping as he gazes at all the items they have to move to the conference hall. Queenie assures him that it's nothing a little magic can't help.

And she's right. When it's time for them to get going they move everything along with a series of enchantments and levitation spells. Carts creak as they roll in formation behind them, all items on their surface sized down, making the process run smoothly. Containers of bottles and pitchers filled with various beverages float merrily along and Credence thinks just how grateful he is for magic. He could never imagine doing this all _by hand_ , not to mention if everything were its  actual size. 

That would be a nightmare.

They guide their enchanted parade to the designated conference hall, the largest room MACUSA has to offer, and when they enter the meeting is in full swing. Credence visibly pales before breaking into a cold sweat. There's got to be at least 150 people here. 

Countless sets of eyes turn to them.

Oh _no_.

Credence is struggling not to hyperventilate, quickly spearing Queenie with a look as he thinks,  _ you said it wasn't going to be that bad_. She gives a sweet, apologetic smile before guiding him and their magical armada off to the side where a series of vacant tables along the wall wait for them.

He scans the room nervously while working to unshrink dishes so Queenie can begin plating food and he catches sight of Percival. The man is seated at one of the long banquet tables at the far end of the room with several of his Senior Aurors, including Tina and Fontaine to his right, and Madam President Picquery to his left, graceful as ever.

They're listening to a stout, balding man drone on about budget cuts and Credence thinks he sees Tina nodding off. _Yep_ , Fontaine just gave her a nudge.

He's just finished resizing the last glass when Queenie waves him over. "I'm gonna get started on handing these out in a moment, could you go ahead and start getting everybody their drinks?"

Credence swallows thickly and nods. He retrieves his wand with a shaky hand, taking a moment to collect himself before nervously casting a large scale levitation charm. Various types of glasses lift into the air as he swishes his wand, guiding individual groups of cups to the table, and with a flick of his wrist he lowers them.

He continues this process until every person has a glass before returning to gather the variety of pitchers and bottles, swiftly setting them on one of the larger carts. He wheels the drinks around, asking each witch and wizard what they would like, pouring a glass of wine here, a few fingers of Scotch there.

Credence fears he might shake out of his skin when the president kindly thanks him with a  genuine smile after he pours her a glass of white wine, but he manages to return a squeaky " _you're welcome_ ". Percival soothes his nerves without having to say much, offering one of his tiny, warm smiles while flashing Credence a quick wink as he politely requests his usual  _Ogden's Old Firewhisky_.

After every glass has been filled, he returns the beverage cart to their makeshift station on wooden legs. Queenie is only halfway through serving plates, so he swiftly takes initiative and begins helping her, receiving a grateful smile for his efforts.

The meeting goes on as those in attendance dig into their meals and sip their beverages. Dessert is next in line, so Queenie puts a slice of cake on each plate while Credence makes his rounds refilling glasses.

He's able to breathe a bit easier as the time drags on. It really wasn't as bad as he thought it was going to be, and they stay relatively busy between serving food and topping off glasses.

Dessert is served after the lunch plates have been retrieved and taken care of, and Credence longingly eyes the thick slices of red velvet cake as he's doing his final pass of refills.

He pours some more water into Tina's glass and she offers him a cheery smile, thanking him with a soft voice. He turns to the cart, setting the pitcher down, and lifts the decanter of scotch that Fontaine has been drinking, the Auror being next to take care of. It's as he's stepping up to the man's left, leaning in, that Credence abruptly takes a solid glass tumbler directly to the nose.

The pain is instantaneous and _searing_. Bursts of light flash behind his eyes like fireworks and he staggers before collapsing face first into something warm. His head is spinning wildly and his thoughts are all fuzzy and jumbled. He feels a soft, yet firm warmth cushioning his cheek, and with a dopey giggle he snuggles into it. It feels  _so_ _nice_ .

There's a hand placed hesitantly on his back and he can hear several voices speaking all at once. He can make out one that sounds like Fontaine, and is he apologizing? There's another, this one feminine, and she's babbling rapidly in an accusatory tone.

He hears chairs sliding and fabric rustling and it grates his already throbbing head, so he burrows even deeper, nudging until his smarting face is surrounded by lovely heat. The pillow he's lying on trembles beneath him, and since  _ when did pillows do that?_

"You've knocked him senseless, Fontaine!" The female voice chastises.

"It was an  _ honest mistake! _I didn't realize how close he was!"

His pillow rumbles and hoarsely says, "Would you two stop bickering and help me,  _ please_?"

His pillow sounds awfully familiar.

Coherent thought slowly returns and Credence begins to lift his face, placing his hands against where he's been laying for support. The pain is still there but it's died down to a hot, dull throb. The warm hand on his back trembles as it slides up to gently cup the back of his neck, and he feels a second equally shaky hand press flat to his chest, likely attempting to help him.

"Easy there..."

Credence sits back on his haunches and sluggishly blinks his eyes open. It takes a moment for his vision to focus, but when it does he looks down to see that his “ _pillow_ ” is in fact  _ not _ a pillow, but a lap.

With painful clarity he drags his eyes up from the person's firm legs, along their slender waist and broad chest, to finally settle his gaze on the owner of the comfortable body.

It's _Percival_ .

The older wizard looks understandably ruffled. His brow is knitted and his warm brown eyes are dark and heated. There's a muscle in his jaw that jumps occasionally, and his breathing is low and uneven. Percival lifts a hand and touches it to Credence's forehead, and the young man notes the tremor.

"Credence, talk to me. Are you hurt?" His voice is still quivering but he looks like he's managed to finally control his facial expressions.

Credence can't seem to find his tongue when he opens his mouth to speak. He flushes violently when he remembers where he is, surrounded by over a hundred people while he shamelessly  rubbed his face against Percival's groin.

He blinks rapidly, jerking his hands away from the man's thighs, "I am  _so_ sorry , Mr. Graves."

Percival huffs a stunned chuckle before removing his palm from the other man's face to gingerly rub his back. "You have absolutely  _ nothing _ to apologize for."

He's helped to his feet by Percival and Fontaine, the latter spewing sincere apologies. The meeting has come to a temporary halt and Credence tries not to linger on the fact that it is his doing.

Queenie is at his side in an instant, stating that she'll take care of him, and then they're walking out of the room and down the long hall.

"Queenie, I'm sorry..."

" _Honey_ ," she gives him a firm look, "you didn't do anything wrong.  _ Anything _ , ya hear me?" Her petite arm is draped around his shoulders as they walk and she lets out an exasperated chuckle. "You  _ would  _ apologize for getting hit in the face."

Credence grumbles and gingerly rubs his nose. It's sore but doesn't feel like anything serious, thank Morgana for that.

"What about the luncheon?" He questions when she guides him into the lift. Red greets them and the lift lurches when he selects their floor.

"It's just cleanup now, I can take care of it. Don't you worry, Sweetie."

He's about to protest when she shoots him another look. The lift grinds to a stop, the gate opens and they step out, where Queenie ushers him to canteen.

She has him sit down before asking if he needs a potion for pain. When he says that he doesn't she smiles sweetly and ruffles his hair.

" _You_ _ know_," she says in a conspiratorial tone, "Mr. Graves looked like he got walloped in the face, too."

Credence tenses, "How do you mean?"

She giggles, her laugh light and tinkling—almost bell-like. "Oh, just that he looked dazed and having the time of his life."

"But—I don't—"

Queenie crouchs in front of him until they are eye level. "I know you have them thoughts that try to break apart and deny things, Cree. A lot of people do, that's normal. But you really are _too_ hard on yourself."

Credence turns his head away, "I don't know what you're talking about," he whispers feebly.

Queenie quirks a brow and gives him an  _ Oh, really?  _ look. "No Credence, I think that you do."

He's opening his mouth to deny once more when she presses a finger to his lips.

"Honey. That man is  _ sweet on you _ . Anyone with eyes can see it. Surely you must have seen it too?"

He drops his head. She's right. Of course she's right. Credence has seen it but he's been in self-denial this entire time. His fear controls him and it's his fear that whispers that he's not good enough. That Percival couldn't possibly want him in the same way that Credence does.

Queenie shakes her head softly, placing a delicate finger below his chin until he lifts his face to meet her eye. "You'd be surprised."

She taps her finger before kissing him on the cheek and standing. "I'm gonna get this taken care of real quick and then I'll be back. You sure you don't need me to go get anything?"

He shakes his head, "No, thank you Queenie."

"You got it, Sugar." With one last smile she walks out of canteen.

Credence sighs softly, running a hand across his eyes. He doesn't know what to do. Of course, he  could go on like normal—pretending that he didn't have strong feelings for Percival, because that was a much easier route.

_Or_ he could do something about it. Conquer his fear and let his feelings be known. His stomach flipped at the thought.

He just needed some time to figure things out...

*


	5. Chapter 5

Queenie returns to canteen an hour later, moving the carts out of the way and stopping Credence as he rises to help with a look. She tells him he doesn't need to worry about it right now, that it's time for lunch.

Surprisingly they have their own plates from the luncheon, as Madam President ensured that they got a lunch and dessert as well. Pan-seared Chilean sea bass and scallops with tomatoes and spinach, drizzled with a caramelized lemon sauce. And, of course, a generous slice of red velvet cake.

Queenie told him they were allowed a glass of wine or liquor, if they wanted it. He declined, instead choosing an iced tea. "Suit yourself," she sing-songs and pours a modest portion of _Viognier_ into her stemware.

The food smells excellent,and after the first bite Credence takes back everything he's ever said about haughty food. Queenie sits reclined in her chair giggling helplessly into her wine glass at the faces and noises Credence is making. He can't help it.

The sea bass is flaky yet moist, practically melting in his mouth, and the flavor combinations with the tomato, spinach and lemon sauce wash over his palate in the most pleasurable way. He openly moans with every mouthful, practically in the cusps of a food orgasm.

"How is it, Honey?" Queenie wheezes, her own plate momentarily forgotten.

Credence promptly whimpers again, "Oh my God, it's _so_ good."

Queenie is now past the point of giggles and has entered the realm of howling laughter. Confused, Credence glances up to catch her shakily gesturing towards the door. When he turns his head to follow her pointing finger all of the color in his face drains away.

Percival is standing in the doorway, one hand clutching the frame so hard that his fingers are white, while the other is twisted in the fabric of his trousers. His eyes are screwed shut, brows knitted together and his lips are pursed tightly. Credence is about to ask the man if he's alright when Queenie silently grabs his attention with a wave of her hand. She holds up a finger as if to say give him a moment.

So Credence does, staring at her skeptically but remaining quiet. He quietly directs his gaze back to the man who still has his eyes closed, studying his pinched face and the rosy flush of his skin. His eyes skim down to the man's chest as it rises and falls. He's broad-shouldered with a firm, well defined chest, though his waist and hips slinky taper off. He dares to dip his eyes lower and is shocked when he spots the faint outline of— _oh sweet lord_ , the man has clearly been _blessed_.

Heat blooms in his cheeks and he instantly snaps his attention back to Queenie. She's got the biggest knowing grin on her face and he just about sputters when she gives him a saucy wink.

As mortifying as this all is it's actually rather insightful. It was like Queenie was giving him an example for what they discussed earlier, having him sit and observe—to see just how _strongly_ he affects Percival.

Queenie nods cheerfully at his thoughts and blows him a kiss. She also delicately clears her throat, and in a loud, bubbly voice says, "Oh, hello _Mr. Graves!_ Please come in!"

Credence watches Percival visibly jolt when she shatters the silence and his eyes fly open. Even from where he's sitting he can see how the pupils have swallowed nearly every bit of warm brown so that they're virtually pitch black. He's seen this several times now, and he flushes brightly as he begins to connect the dots.

Percival runs a hand across his mouth as he makes subtle adjustments to his posture and coughs to clear his throat. "Thank you Miss Goldstein. I came to check on Credence."

Queenie smugly takes a sip of wine before resuming her meal.

Credence soothes his dry mouth with a drink from his cup, "I'm feeling much better, thank you Percival."

Graves nods thoughtfully, bringing a hand up to loosen his tie the tiniest fraction, "Good, I'm glad," his eyes carefully search the other man's face, "How's your nose?"

Credence brings a hand to tenderly touch it, "It appears that it's still attached," he playfully replies. The corner of Percival's lip quirks up and his gaze softens. _God, he's so handsome_.

Graves strides into the room, moving quietly towards him. When he's within touching distance Percival reaches a hand down to gently grasp Credence's jaw, tilting his head up to examine the other's nose, and Credence can't help how he leans into the warm contact.

Percival hums softly, a pleased sort of sound. Warm brown eyes scan the younger man's face as he turns his head this way and that before finally releasing him. The tip of his finger ghosts along Credence's chin as he pulls away and the young wizard shivers.

"It doesn't seem like Fontaine did too much damage. He had better consider himself lucky," Percival mutters with a solemn tone, lips tugging into a frown.

Credence shudders. He doesn't want to think what would have happened if he had suffered an actual injury. Even so, he's sure that Percival isn't going to let Fontaine off the hook so easily.

"It was an accident," he pleads quietly, "Please don't be upset with him."

Percival blinks as he stares down at Credence but his expression softens, "Don't worry, he's not in any trouble."

Credence sighs in relief upon hearing this, and with a nod he returns to his meal.

Queenie has been quietly observing their interaction and now, she sets her plate aside, crossing one leg over the other before curiously asking, "You two got anything special planned for this weekend?" There's a tinge of mischief to her voice that Credence picks up on immediately. She's up to something...

Percival slips his hands into his trouser pockets, "Credence and I are going to Dragon Street tomorrow," he says matter-of-factly.

Her face lights up and she claps her hands together, "Oh, that's swell! I just love Dragon Street this time of year. All the shops are decorated with pastel colors and the little kiosks are selling spring treats and enchanted flowers," she's practically swooning. "You know, they say spring is the season of new beginnings," she lifts up her glass and slowly tilts it back to finish her wine before adding, "and _love_."

Credence chokes around the food in his mouth but manages to quickly regain his composure. Percival quirks a brow and gently thumps the young man's back a few time.

"Is that so?" His low voice is laced with amusement as he looks from Credence to Queenie.

"Oh, for sure," she confirms with a delighted grin as she rises from her chair, "Oh! You gotta make sure to stop by _Wicked Delights_ and get a Lemon Meringue Twister while you're there. Ms. Mildred makes the best in the state."

Percival purses his lips in consideration before turning to Credence, "I do enjoy all things lemon. Looks like we'll be stopping by _Wicked Delights."_

Credence finishes his food and sets his empty plate aside, offering a smile, "Sounds good to me."

The older wizard smiles in return before pulling his hands from his pockets to smooth one along his waistcoat, "Well, if you don't need anything I'd better head back to my office."

When Credence reassures him that he doesn't, Percival nods and hits him with a handsome smile, "See you later, Credence."

The older man leaves the room and Queenie comes to stand by him, placing a dainty hand on his shoulder, "Like I told Teeny, that man has got it bad," she turns to him with a smug expression, "So do _you_."

Credence groans but for the first time he doesn't deny it. Neither out loud nor in his head—because she's absolutely right.

Queenie giggles triumphantly.

*

Just as Queenie had said, they skipped their second rounds. They spent the extra time tidying up and then relaxing, and it felt so strange to sit there and do nothing, but that's what they did. Queenie with her legs crossed reading this months copy of _Wizard Enquirer_ while Credence played with a stray paper mouse that wandered in from the hall.

Somewhere in this building a person was missing their document and for some reason that made him chuckle. He imagined it was Abernathy and that the man was tearing apart the wand permits department looking for it.

After a while it was time for them to start setting up for their final rounds. Then they were off, Queenie to tend to her floors, and Credence to his.

At Percival's office the man once again asked if he was okay, and once more he assured him that he was, feeling brazen enough to reach out and give the older wizard's arm a gentle squeeze. It must have been the right thing to do because Percival smiled fondly and placed a hand over his to return the gesture.

As soon as Credence entered the DMLE he was snatched into a crushing hug by Fontaine. The man buried his face into the crook of his neck and apologized repeatedly for what had happened at the luncheon. Credence awkwardly patted his back and told him that it was okay before hesitantly asking if he got into trouble for it. Fontaine pulled away, telling him that surprisingly Graves had spared him. He had given Credence a curious look before asking if he had anything to do with it.

Credence didn't reply to that, instead changing the topic while wheeling the cart further into the room.

He left the DMLE and finished his rounds in a timely manner before returning to canteen.

Then it was time to go home.

Queenie energetically chats with him all the way to the alcove, clearly excited for the weekend, and if he's being honest, he's excited too. The weekend meant quality time with Percival, something that he reverently cherished. He had been told that the man used to be an extreme workaholic. Always going in early and staying late, working every weekend and never taking any time off, but that changed drastically in the last eight months.

Sure, part of it could be a result of what happened with Grindelwald, but a greedy part of Credence likes to think that he also had a hand in it.

That Percival willingly spends time at home with him and enjoys his company.

He's drawn from his reveries by a soft giggle. He's really got to stop doing that around a Queenie.

She wraps an arm around his shoulder and gives him a gentle hug, "Can I ask you something, Cree?"

Credence swallows and hesitantly nods, anticipating what she has to say.

Queenie lifts her head and scopes out the area before turning to lean in and quietly ask, "Would you consider telling Mr. Graves how you feel this weekend?"

Visibly paling he turns to gape at her, "Queenie, I really don't think—"

She makes a soft tutting noise as she brushes a strand of hair away from his face.

"Honey, if you don't say anything the two of you are gonna dance around each other forever. You can't count on Mr. Graves to do it, because he's still trying so hard to be the perfect gentleman."

Credence opens his mouth and then immediately closes it, struggling to find words. He doesn't think he has the courage to say something. The thought alone causes him to break out in a cold sweat.

Queenie places a hand flat on his chest and tilts her head forward, looking him directly in the eyes, "I'm just asking you to think about it. I know he can be intimidating, but under that tough guy exterior is a soft, caring man that just wants to be loved like everybody else. Only problem is, he's too scared to ask for what he wants. Just like another _certain someone_ I know," she gives him a gentle pat before pulling away.

"Just promise me that you'll think about it, okay?"

Nodding weakly must be a good enough response because he's pulled in for one last hug and a whisper of "Have a good weekend, Honey" before Queenie skips off down the stairs and out of the building.

There's _no way_ he can just tell Percival.

Oh, how he would _love_ to make known how he feels. If he were a braver man he would shout it from the rooftops for everyone to hear.

But he's not. There's got to be some way that he can tell Percival.

_Speaking of tall, dark and handsome..._

Percival is waving to Red and now he's headed down the stairs his way. Credence scrambles to school his features and straightens his back, slowly working to regulate his breathing as the man steps closer.

"Ready to go?" The older man questions pleasantly.

"Yes," he croaks before clearing his throat. _Let's try that again_ , "I—yes, I'm ready."

*

Credence has just hung up his suit jacket when he hears a faint knock followed by muffled voices.

Mr. Dubois, right on time.

With a smile he closes the armoire, leaves his room and ventures out towards the study.

Percival has his usual tumbler of _Ogden's Old_ _Firewhisky_ in hand, chatting with the stocky giant-of-a-man.

Mr. Dubois is damn near seven foot tall and he's built like a _house_ , with a dark beard and hair that's peppered generously with grey. He turns when Credence enters and offers up a huge grin that cause the corners of his ocean blue eyes to crinkle handsomely.

" _Credence!_ How've ya been?" Mr. Dubois greets with his deep, booming Boston accent as he approaches.

The man moves surprisingly graceful for someone of his massive stature. Like Queenie, he's a touchy-feely person, and as always he draws Credence into a warm embrace. Credence's head barely reaches the man's chest and he's entirely sure those massive arms wrapped around his back could easily crush him. Instead, he's given a soft squeeze before being let go. Mr. Dubois is really just a gentle giant.

"Hello Mr. Dubois, I've been well," Credence replies with a smile, "It's great to see you."

Mr. Dubois chuckles, and it's a deep and thunderous, "Its great to see ya too, _Lupacchiotto_."

Percival shakes his head but he's smiling fondly. The man takes a sip of his whiskey as he sits on the sofa. "Benny was telling me that he just got back from _Potenza_ this morning."

Credence immediately perks up, " _Really?_ "

Mr. Dubois smiles and scratches his beard, "Sure did. Spent a week in _Castelmezzano_ with family for my Nonna's ninetieth birthday."

Though he had never met her, Credence had seen pictures of Mr. Dubois' grandmother and had heard even more stories. He was so endeared with this woman by the end of it that he hoped one day that would change.

"I would love to go to Italy," he sighs wistful."

Mr. Dubois strides over to the coffee table and picks up the Transfiguration book that sits there.

"If this ol' schmuck isn't gonna take ya, I will," he says giving Credence an exaggerated flirty wink as he thumbs through the pages.

"Careful, or this _ol' schmuck_ will get up and kick your ass," Percival warns but there's no heat to it. Mr. Dubois guffaws and turns slightly to look back at Graves, "I'd like to see ya try, old man."

Credence can't help but laugh at their banter, earning himself a betrayed pout from Percival. It melts effortlessly into a fond expression, and he feels his heart begin to pound when Percival gives him a wink of his own. He's the first to break eye contact because he knows how blistered his face must look.

He's saved by Mr. Dubois when the man saunters over to the sofa and invites him to sit as well to begin their transfiguration lesson.

*

The lesson is only mildly unsuccessful, with Mr. Dubois guiding him through the proper wand techniques for the various forms of _transfiguration_ as well as having him practice transforming a matchstick ( _why did he even have one??_ ) into a birdhouse.

Each time he ends up with a cuckoo clock. Close enough?

They work on it for some time, with similarly frustrating results before Mr. Dubois tells him that's enough for one night. Credence is a little disappointed that he wasn't able to transfigure a birdhouse and promptly tells him so.

" _Lupacchiotto_ —" Mr. Dubois say softly, bending until he's eye level with Credence, "You did very well tonight. _Transfiguration_ can be extremely difficult, and that's a fact," he can see Percival nodding in agreement from behind Mr. Dubois.

"I'm impressed with how close ya got. Most witches and wizards fail spectacularly the first time 'round."

Percival steps up to stand beside his friend, "Believe it or not I struggled with _Transfiguration_. Couldn't transform my ferret into a water goblet to save my life. Poor Zephyr was cross with me for months."

Credence cracked a smile at this and felt himself lighten a bit.

Mr. Dubois chuckles deeply, "Seen it with my own eyes. Percy here was literally pulling his hair out in Mr. Sullivan's class."

Percival glares weakly at the other man before turning to Credence, "The point he's getting at is that you gave your absolute best, and the attempts you made were _damn magnificent_. Don't beat yourself up, okay? You'll get there."

Mr. Dubois thumps his hand on Credence's back, "He's right, _Lupo_ , even though it pains me to admit it," he shoots Graves a playful grin and gets a scowl in return.

"I am _this_ close to kicking your ass, Benny," Percival informs him as he makes a gesture with his fingers showing just how close he is to said threat.

"Okay, but _no wands_ ," Mr. Dubois smiles when Percival pouts, "How 'bout a nightcap 'fore I head out?"

Percival nods and waves his hand towards the liquor cabinet, "Go ahead and help yourself, I need go get started on dinner."

Credence reaches out a hand to stop the older wizard, "Why don't you let me do that, Percival? You stay here and keep Mr. Dubois company."

The other man looks like he's about to protest when Mr. Dubois steps up holding a tumbler of whiskey, "Yeah, I'm sure _Lupacchiotto_ can handle it. Come, sit with me old friend." 

Percival relents and allows Mr. Dubois to guide him to the sofa.

Satisfied, Credence nods and prepares to leave but pauses for a moment when a thought comes to him. He glances over at the two men talking before hurrying over to the gramophone in the corner. Pulling out his wand, he casts a levitation charm on it and snags a record from the shelf nearby before turning to leave. He notices Percival and Mr. Dubois watching him.

"Just wanted a bit of music," he explains sheepishly as he walks out of the study with the gramophone floating obediently behind him.

*

In the kitchen Credence quickly sets the gramophone up on the counter and winds the crank. He removes the record from its sleeve and places it down on the turntable before taking the brake off and lowering the stylus.

It's silent for a moment before a staticky, scratching sound fills the room, followed shortly by a bouncy jazz tune. Credence sighs contentedly and walks to the refrigerator to begin cooking.

He uses magic to gather all the ingredients for dinner. Since he's cooking late he decides to cheat a little and casts a spell to help him chop the potatoes and carve the chicken. He bobs his head along to the music as he sets a pan on to the stove to heat with lard. He's doing a simple fried chicken tonight, with mashed potatoes and grilled asparagus.

The first time he made this for Percival, the man had groaned out loud, an obscene noise, and it nearly caused his brain to short-circuit. He had been sorely tempted to make it every night after that, if only to hear the sound that haunts him when he's alone at night.

Credence gets the potatoes boiling and starts dropping chicken quarters into the pan one at a time. They sizzle enticingly and fill the room with a mouthwatering perfume. The record moves along to the next song, this one a ukulele slowly strumming. He sways to the music as he cooks and he can't help but sing along with the wistful tenor.

" _A songbird yearns to sing a love song_

_The roses yearn just for the dew_

_The whole worlds yearning for the sun shine_

_I have a yearning too—_ "

Credence matches note for note as he turns the chicken and stirs the potatoes.

" _Yearning just for you_

_That's all I do my dear_

_Learning why I'm blue_

_I wish that you were near_

_Smiles have turned to tears_

_Days have turned to years_

_Yearning just for you_

_I hope you're yearning too—_ "

He gets the asparagus going in another pan with olive oil and uses his magic to drain the potatoes. He gets them into a bowl, whipping into a fluffy consistency with butter, garlic and parmesan cheese. The chicken is finished shortly after, so he gathers the sections and places them on a serving dish that he's summoned.

Credence lightheartedly continues bobbing along with his whole body to the music and only notices that he has an audience when he swings around to begin setting the finished food on the table.

He startles so intensely that he nearly smacks his head into a cabinet.

"A talented wizard, cook, _and_ the boy can sing like an angel?" Mr. Dubois lets out a low whistle, "Be still my beating heart."

Percival is standing next to the man appearing equally besotted. His warm eyes display an emotion that Credence is nervous to place, and the look he's being given is making him flush and causing his breathing to quicken. He can feel his knees trembling as well and prays they don't buckle.

"I—uh—" he fumbles for words beneath the heated stare, "Dinner will be ready in a moment." He swallows dryly before retreating back to the safety of the stove to hide his burning face.

Credence hears the two man speaking softly, with Percival inviting Mr. Dubois to stay for dinner, however the man politely declines stating it's been a long day and that he needs to get back home to the missus. _Tell her I said hello_ , Percival had replied.

Credence quietly bids Mr. Dubois a good night and watches as Percival follows him out of the kitchen to walk him to the front door.

Thinking about it now, he's not so sure the gramophone was a good idea.

  
  


*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Credence is listening to is called [Yearning](https://youtu.be/eiWAFRjOzGc) by Gene Austin.
> 
> ((We’re almost there, folks!))


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG WE MADE IT, YOU GUYS!!
> 
> *Explicit sexual content ahead*  
> *Warning for non-graphic dream violence*
> 
> This chapter is the long one...

Credence manages to reign in his embarrassment and finish setting the table by the time Percival returns to the kitchen. They sit together and have a pleasant meal while discussing the days  _ Transfiguration _ lesson and tomorrow's outing to Dragon Street.

Percival tells him that they'll go first thing in the morning to beat the crowds and that they can stay as long as he likes.

He's positively vibrating with anticipation.

They finish eating, and after a quick clean-up charm for the dishes, Credence and Percival make their way back into the study with the gramophone in pursuit. Credence gets it set back up in the corner, and Percival politely requests some music while he pours himself two fingers of  _ Firewhisky_.

Credence goes through the motions, selecting a record and dropping the stylus into place once the brake has been released. A sensual jazz melody begins to play and Percival flashes him a pleased smile.

The older man takes a sip of his whiskey as he walks over to where Credence stands by the gramophone, "Benny is right, you know," Percival murmurs in his gravelly baritone, glancing out the window beside them.

"How so?" Credence questions just as quiet. His pulse flares suddenly at the potential direction this conversation could go.

Percival continues to stare out the window, lifting the tumbler to his lips before speaking again.

"That you sing like an angel."

His heart pumps wildly in his throat and his stomach is doing somersaults. He swallows thickly, his lips sticking together and he's desperate to moisten his dry mouth. He must have been quiet for a while because Percival suddenly turns to look at him with an expression of concern.

"Thank you," he manages to force out, "I-I used to sing in the choir at church," he timidly admits, absently plucking at the fabric of his sleeve.

He swallows again, gradually finding the courage to keep speaking, "Every Sunday, Ma would do her sermon, and then afterwards we would sing hymns to close service. Singing was the one thing she didn't punish me for."

Percival listens, watching him with sad eyes. The ghost of an expression flickers across the man's face, one that Credence has never seen there before, and it almost as if he wants to say something but is having difficulty getting the words out.

Silence hangs over them like a cloud for what feels like hours before Percival tilts his head, eyes pinning the young wizard with a soul penetrating gaze.

"You  _ never _ deserved any of those things that woman did to you. You know that, right?"

Credence drops his head to stare down at his feet, "She seemed to think that I did," he mumbles sadly, "That the punishment matched the sin—"

He feels a curled finger beneath his chin gently urging him to lift his face. Eventually he forces himself to look at Percival, finding the man's expression to be intense and determined.

A knot starts to form in his throat.

" _Surely_ you don't share that opinion as well?" Percival dips his head to maintain eye contact when Credence's gaze nervously wanders. The man's own eyes faintly shimmer, darting back and forth as he studies the other's face.

"Abuse is still abuse, no matter the intentions.  Nobody deserves that; especially not  _ you _ ," Percival whispers, a slight tremor in his voice as if a guarded emotion threatens to spill into it.

"You're a kind young man with a heart of gold that deserves  everything good in life."

Credence bites his tongue as the thought  _does that include you_? pops into his head unbidden. He represses it, not prepared to have  that conversation right now. Instead, he sniffles, his chest convulsing minutely as he asks Percival for a hug.

"C'mere," the older man murmurs and sets his whiskey down beside the gramophone, pulling Credence into a firm embrace. Percival strokes his hand in soothing circles along the younger man's back and Credence fights desperately to keep unshed tears from spilling.

Percival has his head resting against Credence's, whispering words of comfort and praise against the shell of his ear. _How he's_ _ smart as a whip and  can do anything he puts his mind to_, that he's  _ one of the most talented wizards he has ever met _ , how he  has _so many people that genuinely care about him_ ; That he finally  _ has a family that loves him_.

Credence is unable to stop the hiccuping sobs that suddenly rip from his throat. Defeated, he lifts his hands behind the other man's back to grasp at his shoulders, holding him close and riding the waves of raw emotion that flood through of him, tucking his face tightly into Percival's warm neck.

His body shakes and his knees begin to wobble but the older wizard is there to keep him upright.

"That's it, darling. Let it out," Percival coos and tenderly cradles the back of Credence's head.

" _ I've got you _ ."

This only makes him weep harder, and he  would be humiliated at the sizable wet patch that's forming on the other man's shirt if he could just  stop crying for a second. But Percival doesn't seem to mind, he just talks Credence through his emotional episode, and at some point the younger man thinks he might feel soft lips pressing to his temple, but he really can't say for certain.

His sobs finally taper down into half-aborted hiccups and snuffles. He feels absolutely wrecked. His eyes are puffy, nose is running, and he can only imagine the sort of picture he makes in this instant.

But once again, it appears that Percival is unbothered by this as he reaches into his pocket to retrieve his monogrammed handkerchief, offering it to Credence.

He accepts it with only the smallest tremor of his hand, even succeeding to say  thank you and actually sound coherent. Credence quietly wipes his eyes and nose and glances up when he feels fingers carding gently through his hair to find Percival gazing at him with a painfully tender expression.

"Better?" He asks softly.

Credence nods and shyly pulls his wand out to cast  _ Scourgify _ on the handkerchief before giving it back and tucking the wand away, "Thank you.”

Percival smiles and slips the cloth back into his pocket, "No need to thank me."

The music that has been droning on in the background the entire time fades out and the record swiftly begins to scratch, causing both men to jump. They share a sheepish chuckle as Credence moves to lift the needle and turn the gramophone off.

Percival is still standing close, their chests nearly touching as he murmurs, "I meant every word that I said, Credence," dipping his head to catch Credence’s eye.

The young wizard can only maintain the intense eye contact for so long before he has to focus his attention elsewhere, "I know."

The atmosphere encircling them is heavily charged, with something that he doesn't recognize. It's such a strong, unfamiliar sensation that it immediately knocks him out of his comfort zone.

"I-I think I'm going to turn in for the night," Credence says, ignoring the way that his brain is shouting at him to stay and make a move. 

Percival is still staring at him with eyes bright, picking up his whiskey to toss back the last of the burning liquid, "That's what I'm about to do as well."

Neither of them moves for a moment, both simply staring at the other for what seems to be a lifetime before Credence breaks the silence, bidding Percival a good night, before turning abruptly on his heel to leave the study. When he makes it to his room he quietly closes the door and leans his back against it, heaving out a broken sigh.

It's getting hard for him to keep his feelings in check. He wants desperately to lay down this burden, but with his shot nerves he just can't bring himself to _say anything_.

He wishes that he could brave.

* 

Credence tosses and turns up until the early hours of the morning, and only then does he finally fall into a fitful rest.

He has a dream that he's back at the church, still under his Ma's thumb and she  finally has proof that witches exist. In his dream he's standing outside of the church and there's a pyre built with a tall stake in the center. He's standing amongst a large crowd that chatters excitedly, and as he scans the gathering he finds nothing but cruel, sardonic smiles...

_ The crowd suddenly goes quiet when a hooded man is literally dragged from the building by two people on either side, each grasping an arm as they walk. The man appears to be very battered, and he doesn't put up a fight when the two church goers force him to stand with his back to the stake. _

_ His arms are wrenched behind him with a rough jerk and he groans weakly. The man's wrists are then bound tightly with rope before the people step down from the pyre and disappear into the crowd. _

_ Credence's eyes widen as he watches Ma descend from the church carrying a lit torch, nodding her head at two other people who promptly step from the group holding containers of kerosene. He tries to rush forward and help the man, but he's held in place by the crowd as they begin to laugh and jeer. _

_ The two people work together to douse the hostage with fuel, saturating his clothes and drenching his skin until he whimpers helplessly. Credence struggles against the many arms that are gripping him. If he could just get loose he could untie the man and help him escape before he is burned alive... _

_ That's when Ma approaches the man, reaching with her free hand to fist it into the top of the hood, "Behold,” she hisses venomously, “a witch!” _

_ With theatrics, she snatches the hood off to reveal a bruised and battered— Percival . _

_ Credence's sight narrows down to pinpricks and his stomach smashes into the ground. He's shrieking at the top of his lungs as he violently jerks his body against the sea of limbs surrounding his legs, chest and throat, but they just won't yield. _

_ Percival weakly lifts his head to look at him and offers a busted, apologetic smile._

_ With disgust in her eyes Ma tosses the torch. The pyre erupts into flames, instantly engulfing Percival— _

Credence jolts awake with a strangled scream caught in his throat. He gulps lungfuls of air and clutches at his pounding chest, whimpering quietly.

There are tears in his eyes and he frantically wipes them away before throwing his blankets off to turn and sit at the edge of the bed. The nightmare lingers like a bad aftertaste and he shakes his head in a desperate attempt to dislodge it from his mind before standing on trembling legs to walk to the window. When he pulls the curtain aside he can see the sun just beginning to rise in the distance.

He stands there for a while, taking deliberately slow breaths to lower his heart rate while feverishly chanting it _was just a bad dream_.

 _Percival is alive and unharmed._ He can't smell coffee because the man is still asleep.

_Percival is alright. He is safe_.

Logically he _knows_ that it was just a nightmare, but his anxiety is screaming and clawing at him to _go check on Percival_.

He quickly slips into his dressing robe and tiptoes out of his room. The house is shrouded in darkness, so he knows that the man isn't up yet, and he tells his frantic brain that the man is still sleeping safely in his bed.

With silent footsteps he creeps down the hall to Percival's bedroom, stopping in front of the heavy door and lowers his head, placing an ear to the smooth surface.

He holds his breath, carefully listening, but nothing can be heard.

Credence takes a moment to calm himself before grasping the handle and twisting slowly. He continues to keep his lungs in a chokehold as he eases the door open a sliver until he can peek through the crack.

Naturally, it's dark in here like the rest of the home, so he stands there for what feels like an eternity waiting for his eyes to adjust. Finally he's able to make out various shapes in the room and his eyes fall upon the spot where he knows the bed is. He nearly cries out in relief when he sees Percival's silhouette on the mattress, barely swallowing it down before it can stain the air.

He knows he's behaving foolishly, but there was no way that his anxiety was going to disperse without visual proof that Percival was alright. He's half tempted to enter the room and check the man's pulse but he knows  that would be going overboard, so instead he backs away, gradually pulling the door to with a muted  click . Fears ( _mostly_ ) squashed, Credence decides a shower is in order and pads to the bathroom.

*

The hot water soothes both his aching muscles and his shot nerves, and Credence spends a good thirty minutes just allowing the comforting heat wash over him. The water is charmed to stay hot, so he could stand there under the shower spray all day if you wanted to and not once have to worry about it going cold.

Oh how he _loves_ magic.

When Credence has finished washing up he switches the water off and grabs a fluffy black towel from the rack by the wall. It's thick, luxurious and smells faintly of lavender and soap. He can recall how he almost cried when he felt the soft material against his skin for the first time. After drying off, he slips back into his dressing robe and gently towels his dripping hair.

Credence returns the towel to the rack, tosses his union suit into the hamper and leaves the bathroom. By now the sun has risen and he can see streaks of light peering through the sill of the doors. There's also the cozy fragrance of coffee wafting through the air and he sighs, the scent immediately soothing him.

_ Percival is okay. He's okay, and he's here and he's making coffee. He's okay. He's safe._

He chides his thoughts as he goes to his room to get dressed.

*

Percival is sitting at the kitchen table drinking his black coffee and reading  _The New York Ghost_ when Credence steps under the archway. The sense of relief that washes over him is palpable.

 _Percival is okay_ ,  his paranoid mind repeats.

The older wizard is dressed pristinely as always, with a white shirt, charcoal-grey waistcoat, black tie and his usual scorpion collar pins in place. There's not a single wrinkle to be seen, and Credence suddenly feels the overwhelming desire to make some. He promptly crushes that urge and enters the kitchen.

"Good morning," Percival murmurs against the rim of his mug, warm brown eyes tracking his movement.

Credence drapes his suit jacket on the back of a chair, "Morning. Did you sleep well?" He asks softly as he soaks in the man's face, willing this image to override the one from his nightmare. 

Bright eyes replacing dim ones, skin supple and smooth— _not bruised and bloody_ —lips unmarred and upturned happily— _not broken and apologetic._

Percival sets his mug down on the table, "I did, thank you for asking," he glances back to the paper as he turns a page, "and you?"

He bites back the grimace that tries to take over, "I  slept ..." He feels exhausted and worn thin.

Credence eyes the percolator with interest and decides a little coffee might help.

The older wizard watches with quiet amusement as Credence takes a mug down from the cabinet and pours himself a cup.

"You never drink coffee. Rough night?, "Percival questions and takes a sip of his own.

Credence pulls a sugar bowl from one another cabinet before walking to the fridge for cream.

“You could say that," he mumbles. “I didn’t sleep very well."

Pouring a generous amount of cream and sugar into the mug, Credence stirs the coffee well before taking an experimental sip. He reflexively gags and scrunches his nose at how  strong it is. Not even the copious amount of sweetener he poured in can mask it.

"How can you  _drink this_? " Credence asks incredulously, "I'm surprised that you haven't keeled over yet. This stuff is  _ potent _ ."

Percival huffs an amused chuckle, "It's good, isn't it?"

"Yeah, if you fancy heart palpitations." Credence grimaces, but slowly takes another hesitant sip. He finds that this time when it hits his tongue it isn’t as overwhelming.

The older wizard throws his head back with a laugh and Credence seizes the opportunity to admire the smooth line of his throat and how the swell of his Adam's apple bobs gently with each motion. He swallows hard and grudgingly pries his eyes away.

Percival's laughter dies down to a tender chuckle, "Strong enough to put hair on your chest, or so my father used to tell me," he grins crookedly and that is doing  _ nothing _ to help Credence right now.

* 

The two wizards finish their coffee and decide that to grab something for breakfast once they get to Dragon Street.

Credence takes Percival's arm for  _Side-Along_ ,  and with a  crack they appear in an alley between a No-Maj dry cleaners and a quaint little inn.

They exit the alley and head towards the latter, ascending the steps of the building to enter into a large, brightly lit foyer. The interior is all warm colors and smooth hardwood floors; there's cozy matching furniture spread out amongst the room, along with plush ornate rugs and a magnificent stone fireplace that burns year round. An elderly woman is standing behind a reception desk in front of a curtained doorway. She smiles and greets them when they approach.

Percival returns the greeting with a nod before leaning in to quietly say, "I'm here to see a man about a broom," as he discreetly flashes his wand.

"Right this way, gentlemen," she smiles and draws the curtain to one side for them to pass. Credence politely thanks her as they walk by and continues after Percival, the curtain drifting shut behind them.

They're in a small, empty room with one giant floor-to-ceiling mirror serving as a wall, and the older wizard approaches it, placing a hand upon the reflective surface. The glass shimmers faintly and begins to ripple, and after a moment their reflections are replaced by a bustling street with tightly packed buildings lining either side. Credence beams.

Magic never gets old.

Throngs of witches and wizards shuffle about, browsing and shopping. Children chatter excitedly, pressing their faces against the glass at  _ Atticus & Mallard's Quidditch Emporium _ to gaze longingly at the latest broom model. Kiosks indeed decorated in bright spring colors are in full swing selling everything from chocolate frogs and grilled kebabs to self-writing quills and shiny fountain pens that never run dry.

Credence is filled with wonder every time they visit Dragon Street, and this time is no exception. He swivels his head to the left and right, soaking everything in with round, eager eyes.

He hears a soft chuckle and turns to find Percival watching him fondly.

"I will never get tired of seeing that expression," the older wizard comments with a quirk of his lip.

"What expression?" Credence asks a little self-consciously.

Percival drapes an arm around his shoulder, "Joy."

His face heats up and he quickly ducks his head as they walk. The crowd practically parts for Percival when he guides them along the stone road.

“How about something to eat before we get started?"

Credence lifts his head and offers a tiny smile, "That sounds nice."

*

They stop for a quick bite at one of the few restaurants that the strip has to offer before they begin looking around. Credence browses the kiosks with Percival in tow, as their owners deliver enthusiastic sales pitches in the hopes that they can entice them to purchase something.

Credence ultimately caves when presented with a beautiful wand holster engraved with geometric patterns, and when Percival isn't looking he picks out a sleek, dark leather one that’s interwoven with protection charms for him.

They leisurely progress from shop to shop for a couple of hours until they reach  _ Wicked Delights  _ and decide to give it a try. 

As always, there’s an obnoxiously long line leading out of the building and into the street.

Resigned, they fall in behind the procession and Credence tries not to laugh every time Percival grumbles and makes comments under his breath that sound suspiciously like,  _ I'm the Director of Magical Security, I shouldn't have to wait in a line..._

It's as they're waiting that Credence spots a familiar blonde bob bouncing in the crowd.

"Hey Honey!" Queenie chirps brightly when she notices him, and wiggles her way through the ocean of people towards them. She's carrying several large shopping bags and wearing a grin so warm it could melt ice.

" _ Goldstein.  _ What are the odds," Percival says in lieu of a greeting as he squints his eyes in suspicion.

Queenie flashes a sly smile, "I know, right? What a  _ coincidence.”_

Credence chews the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing, "What are you doing here?"

Queenie sets her bags down briefly to brush a blonde curl out of her face.

“Oh, ya know, the two of you talking yesterday kinda made me want to visit. I figured I’d come out here, buy myself a couple dresses, maybe get something for Teeny, too."

Percival is still scrutinizing withnarrowed eyes and Queenie openly chuckles at him.

“Mr. Graves, you better hope it don't freeze or your face is gonna be stuck like that."

Credence guffaws before slapping a hand over his mouth and promptly turning red. The older wizard looks at him incredulously for a second before he bursts out into laughter, the corners of his eyes creasing attractively, and Credence is helpless to join. Several people turn and look their way but the three of them pay no mind.

Queenie observes the line they're in and tuts, "Always so busy," before turning to Percival, "Oh! Mr. Graves, since you've got a bit of a wait on your hands, you wouldn't mind if I borrowed Credence for a moment, would ya? It won't take long, I promise... I just want to get his input on a surprise for Teeny."

Credence eyes her skeptically before glancing at Percival. The man is wearing a similar expression as he regards the blonde witch.

“I suppose not...” he mutters.

"Wonderful!" Queenie immediately passes Credence the bags she's holding from one hand before looping her free arm with his.

“Just a tick!" With that she drags him from the line and walks off. They pass several shops before she guides him to a narrow alleyway, and Credence is on the verge of questioning her when she swiftly turns and gives him  the look.

" _What _ ?" He croaks.

"Did ya think about what I said?"

Credence groans softly and pulls his arm free to rub his face, "Queenie..."

" _Honey_ , what are you so afraid of?" She asks with genuine curiosity.

"I'm—" He releases a heavy sigh, “Queenie, I cant do it!  _ Okay _ ? I don't have the courage to talk to him."

He's struggling to find the words. And actually, that's really what this all boils down to:

He doesn't know  what to say  to Percival. 

Credence doesn't know how to explain the way he makes him feel. 

And _yeah_ , he  is afraid. Even if he's seen proof that the other man is interested, he's afraid that it  isn't true . He's afraid to pour his heart out. He's afraid to make himself any more vulnerable than he already is. He's afraid to ruin what they have by opening his mouth. 

He’s _afraid._

Queenie places a hand on Credence's shoulder, giving him a tiny reassuring smile.

“You want Mr. Graves, right?"

Credence swipes at his eyes where they've become misty. 

“More than anything," he admits in a whisper.

"Well then, do something about it."

He's opening his mouth to argue when she cuts him off with, "If you can't say it with words, say it with actions."

"I'm not sure that I follow...” he replies, furrowing his brows.

"Body language, Sweetie. Flirt with him.  _ Tease him _ a little bit. Show him that you're interested, too."

Credence sputters, cheeks burning with heat, " _ Queenie _ !"

She gives him a mischievous smile, "You're already halfway there. You’ve been unintentionally teasing that poor man for nearly a week."

White hot embarrassment floods his body as his mind conjures everything that's transpired in the last week. Now that he thinks about it, she's right. He can recall the state Percival was in each time, and where he originally believed that the man was under the weather, or mad—"

"That man is wound tighter than a 10-day clock. He needs a little help to unwind, don't ya think?" 

She shoots him a wink which only causes him to despair more.

But she's right. And he wants to do something about it.

Queenie beams at his thoughts, " _That's _ the spirit, Honey!"

So they stand there in the alley with Queenie giving him advice and tips on how to  _Seduce Mr. Graves_ ( _oh, merciful heavens_ ), and Credence willingly listens to her. 

By the time she's finished,he's sure that he's never felt this flustered in his entire life, but he is now armed with the knowledge he needs to  _ woo _ Percival. 

Just before they leave she presses a small, pastel pink bag into his hands.

"What's this?" He asks in confusion, moving to open it, before she places her hand over his to prevent it.

"Don't open it yet, not until you're alone. And  _ don't _ let Mr. Graves open it, neither! If he asks what it is, tell him I got ya a book or something."

"... _ Queenie_." Credence skeptically holds the bag away from his body as if it were full of flesh-eating slugs.

"Ain't nothing to worry about, you'll see!" followed by cryptic instructions to, “Just make sure that it goes under.” He grimaces at the bag as she hooks their arms together.

*

By the time they return to  _Wicked Delights_ ,  the line has thankfully shortened and he slips back in beside Percival, who shoots them a curious look. 

Queenie collects her bags and bids them farewell, throwing Credence a playful smile and wink before departing.

Percival turns towards him, "Everything alright? You look a little pale."

Credence startles a bit. “ _What _ ? Oh! Yeah... everything's great." 

He tries to not squirm under the man's intense gaze.

"What have you got there?" Percival questions, nodding towards the pink bag Credence is holding.

"I—ah—well—Queenie got me a... book ," he struggles to come up with something, "Yeah. Recipe book. You know, for cooking. Recipes to cook." 

_ Damn it, that didn't sound convincing at all! _

Percival stares at him quietly for a moment, searching his face closely, before making a soft hum, "That was nice of her."

Credence nods mechanically and is saved from further interrogation because the line is moving and they're walking into the shop.

_ Wicked Delights _ is a modest bakery and treat shop, with a long glass display case serving as a counter and several tables and booths set up along the walls. 

Within the case are dozens of different treats. Vibrant cakes, pastries, chocolates and candies, all made in store by the owner Ms. Mildred Mattsdotter and her staff.

There's also a selection of ice cream with ordinary flavors like Salted Caramel, Butter Pecan and traditional Vanilla Bean to more  exotic delicacies, like Champagne Rose Petal, Pumpkin Mint Swirl, and Creamy Head Cheese (Credence scrunched his nose up when he saw the latter.)

They peruse the different options while they wait in line at the counter to order. When it's their turn they each get a Lemon Meringue Twister, which is a bright yellow tart with fluffy toasted meringue peaks, and two root beer floats.

"Now I know why they call it a _Twister_ ," Percival comments with a pinched face a moment after taking his first bite. Credence too thinks it's aptly named when the tart hits his tongue and causes it to twist and turn wildly in his mouth. He giggles while his tongue dances around before taking another bite. It's delicious and sweet and sour and Percival must think so too, because he digs into his serving with finesse. 

They occasionally burst out in laughter while eating.

After they've finished their trea, they leave  _ Wicked Delights _ and the older man asks if there's anything else he'd like to do. It's the early afternoon and the strip is dense with herds of witches and wizards.

"Unless there's something you want to do, I'm all set." 

Credence checks to make sure the pink bag is still carefully tucked within the one containing the wand holsters, as if it might crawl out by itself.

Percival shakes his head, "I'm ready if you are."

They make their way back towards the shimmering two-way mirror and exit Dragon Street.

* 

When they arrive home, Credence walks calmly to his room to set his bag down. He double checks the door to make sure that it's closed before he slides the pink bag out and studies it with a dubious look. It's small and incredibly light, and when he shakes it something soft slides around inside.

Credence hesitantly opens the bag and peers in. It's some sort of blush-colored garment. He reaches inside, pulling it out only to immediately drop it with a surprised yelp when he realizes what it is. 

_ No_. No she didn't. _She_ _ did_. No no  _ no _ .

Feeling incredibly flustered, he dives in once more and lifts up the delicate garment, holding it at arms length with pinched fingers. 

It's a silky step-in chemise with lace ruffles at the hem. 

Women's _lingerie_. Oh, and look, there's  _ matching stockings _ in the bottom of the bag.

His face burns hot as he examines the under clothing, mentally cursing Queenie to the ends of the earth for this little slip of silk. 

_ Why _ did she think this would be a good idea? 

He goes back to their conversation and blanches when he recalls her telling him to  _ make sure it goes under _ . She intended for him to wear it under his clothes.

Looking at it he thinks it's not much different from a union suit. The general shape and style are there, only this is flattering and feminine. The fabric is incredibly sleek and lustrous, flowing over his hand in sensual waves. It's very beautiful, he can admit that, and for a moment he imagines himself wearing it. Imagines the look on Percival's face when he sees him in it. How his eyes might darken and his breathing might quicken...

It's too much for his already fried brain to handle, so he forces the thoughts away and stuffs the chemise back into the bag before walking over to his armoire to hide it.

*

Credence spends the next hour pretending to read a book in the study while going over everything Queenie has told him.

_Try touching him_ ,  she had said, and then,  _ Oh! Mr. Graves seemed to really enjoy watching ya eat. Try licking something...  _

Credence had cringed and buried his red face in his hands.

A knock at the door draws him out of his thoughts, and he can see Mr. Graves, who has been in his home office, pass by the doorway from the hall to answer it. There's a creak.

" _Percy _ ! How ya doin' old man?" He can hear Mr. Dubois' booming voice from the foyer. A moment later there are echoing foot steps that bring the two men into the study. Credence closes the book he's holding and stands to greet his tutor.

Mr. Dubois envelopes him in a warm hug and thumps a hand between his shoulders.

" _Lupacchiotto _ ! Did ya have a good day?" The bearded man steps back to look at him.

"Yes. We went to Dragon Street this morning," Credence gestures towards Percival who has just sat down at the far end of the sofa with a tumbler of whiskey. He ducks his head with a tiny smile when the older wizard grins flirtatiously.

"Oh, Dragon Street's got all kinda goodies," Mr. Dubois hums as he crosses the study to pick up Credence's  _ Transfiguration _ book.

“Ready to get started?"

Credence nods. He's about to sit in his usual spot at the opposite end of the sofa when a rush of courage grips him. Mr. Dubois has yet to sit, so Credence quickly drops himself beside Percival, pressing close until their sides are touching. The older man raises his brows in surprise, an amused smirk playing on his lips, "Well  hello."

He tries to school his features, smiling something friendly in return before looking to Mr. Dubois as the man sits to his left. His tutor doesn't question the sudden change to the seating arrangement, instead he chats animatedly and opens the book to where they left off yesterday.

Percival is absently swirling the amber liquid in his glass, a finger running along his bottom lip as he listens to Mr. Dubois read aloud. Credence is attempting to pay attention, he really is, but the minute movement continuously catches his eye. 

They're still resting together snuggly, and as his tutor turns a page, Credence feigns a stretch, boldly placing his right hand to rest on Percival's left thigh, just above the knee. He can see the older wizard subtly turn his head a fraction to glance down at the motion, but he doesn't comment. Percival's thigh is warm and firm beneath the fabric and it takes every bit of strength to keep his hand from trembling.

Mr. Dubois is now going over proper wand technique, pulling out his own to demonstrate. Credence tries to focus but it's hard to do so when the man to his right has just draped an arm around his shoulders. Credence shivers when Percival's thumb slips under the material of his waistcoat, rubbing at the edge of his clavicle in slow, deliberately teasing strokes. 

His skin feels like it is on fire at the point of contact.

"Credence?"

Credence jumps when Mr. Dubois addresses him, "I'm sorry, what was that?"

His tutor huffs a good-natured laugh, "I think I just caught ya daydreaming. Anything good?"

He can hear Percival's low chuckle by his ear, the man's warm breath gently ghosts over the scorched skin of his neck and jaw. He can faintly smell the spice of Firewhisky with each exhale, heady and terribly distracting.

"I—yeah. I apologize, Mr. Dubois, I wasn’t paying attention for a moment. What were you asking?" The urge to pull his hand away is nearly unbearable but he fights through his anxieties and leaves it. 

Percival's thumb is still drifting back and forth, and hisarm is a pleasantly warm weight.

Mr. Dubois smiles and nudges Credence with his arm, "Was asking if ya ready to transfigure."

" _Oh!_ Sure," he replies. Percival slowly retracts his hand, dragging it the entire way along Credence's shoulders before setting it into his own lap.

As he stands, Credence takes an opportunity to discreetly brush his fingers along Percival's knuckles before swiftly following Mr. Dubois to the middle of the room. He takes a deep breath and chances a look at the man still sitting. Percival is leaning back with a finger pressed long ways against his lips, and his eyes are dark and hungry as he watches him. Credence swallows hard, returning his attention to Mr. Dubois.

They work with the matchstick again, and it's just as frustrating today as it was yesterday. It seems that no matter how hard he tries or how clear his focus is he just can't transfigure it into a birdhouse. He's about to give up when Percival sets his whiskey down in the coffee table and stands, coming around the furniture to stand behind Credence.

"Here," he murmurs and presses his chest close to the younger man's back. He lifts his hand and wraps it around Credence's where he holds the wand, and Percival leans in until his lips are almost touching the his ear.

“Visualize it in your head. I'll guide your arm as you do the spell."

Credence fights a shiver and nods, looking at Mr. Dubois who only steps back with his arms crossed to observe. He closes his eyes and pictures the birdhouse in his mind; The slant of the roof and the small sections of wood that make up the walls. 

Opening his eyes he nods once more and speaks the incantation clearly, moving his arm in intricate motions with Percival's help. Suddenly the matchstick morphs and grows until it's a beautiful, smooth birdhouse, and he can’t control the startled laugh that bubbles out of him at the spells success.

" _Attaboy! _ ” Mr. Dubois bellows, shaking a fist triumphantly.

Percival releases his hold and steps back after giving Credence's arm a firm squeeze.

“Just needed a helping hand," he winks before going to grab his whiskey, leaving Credence breathless.

*

The rest of the lesson goes smoothly, with Credence transfiguring the matchstick back and forth into various objects. It's only late in the afternoon when they finish, and Mr. Dubois hangs around for a little while, sharing a drink with Percival.

Credence excuses himself and goes to his bedroom, anxiously pulling the pink bag out of the armoire. He’s been thinking about this damn chemise all throughout the  _ transfiguration _ lesson, and he’s loathe to admit that he’s curious.

When he's sure that the two men haven't moved from the study, he sneaks down the hall and to the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

It takes a long time for him to get the courage to pull the chemise out of the bag, but he eventually does, and he drapes it on the rack alongside the towel. It takes him even longer to undress, but he again manages to find that courage and sets his waist coat, button-up shirt and trousers on the sink, before tossing his union suit into the hamper.

After a quick reflecting shower he dries off and stares at the garment apprehensively.

The chemise is silky smooth and tickles his skin as he steps into it. It fits comfortably, with loose fabric cinched delicately at the waist. There's short flowing sleeves designed to hang off the shoulders, only going as far as the top of his bicep where it grips snuggly with elastic bands.

It's light and airy, and Credence is embarrassed to think that he wouldn't mind wearing it all the time.

He pulls the stockings from the bag and perches himself on the lid of the commode to slide them on one at a time. They're just as luxurious, and the nearly translucent fabric molds to his calves and thighs, shaping them seductively. He runs a hand along the sleek material and shivers at the sensation.

Standing, he turns to the mirror and freezes with a sharp intake of breath. The blush tone of the silk brings out the barely-there color of his skin, giving a rosy, doll-like appearance, and his jet black hair is a stark contrast that only helps to enhance the effect. The fit hugs his body and gives the illusion of soft curves.

He looks fragile and delicate, but in an enticing and beautiful way. He swallows hard and wonders if Percival would think the same.

Credence dresses in his socks, button-up and trousers, sans waistcoat and suspenders. The shirt he's wearing today is dark, so the blushing silk can't be seen through it. The foreign feeling under his clothes is both strange and exhilarating, and it’s something that frightens him just a little bit. With shaky hands he tosses the waistcoat into the hamper before combing his hair and leaving the bathroom.

When he gets back to the study the gramophone is switched on, playing a sleepy jazz tune with a woman singing in fluttering dips. Percival and Mr. Dubois are seated on the sofa, each man nursing their own glass of whiskey, as they speak in soft voices. They lift their heads to look at him when he enters.

"You did great today,  _ Lupacchiotto_," Mr. Dubois compliments proudly before sipping from his glass.

Percival has his head tilted to the side, a playful smile on his lips as he gazes at Credence fondly.

“He really did. Not many take to _tr_ _ansfiguration _ so quickly."

Credence chews his lip sheepishly as he goes to sit between the two men once more.

“I couldn't have done it without your help," he points out to the older wizard.

Shaking his head, Percival gracefully drapes an arm around Credence's shoulders.

“You would have gotten it soon. I just noticed that your posture was off a bit," he turns his head to hit Mr. Dubois with a mock look of accusation, "I had to step in because  _ the tutor  _ doesn't know what he's doing. What do I even pay you for, Benny?"

Mr. Dubois places a hand to his chest and feigns offense with a theatrical gasp, "Why, for my charmin' good looks, of course.”

Percival snorts lightly, " _ Of course _ , how could I forget?"

Credence chuckles and subtly slides closer to Percival. Mr. Dubois takes a sip of his whiskey and then perks up, "Oh, I almost forgot," he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a vibrantly colored spiral lollipop, "Good students deserve a treat."

Delighted yet confused, Credence takes the proffered candy. His bewilderment must show on his face because Mr. Dubois smiles and nods his head at the lollipop, "Picked that up while I was in  _ Protenza_. It's a lolli that changes flavors with each lick. Thought you might like it."

Fate could not be more on his side right now, he thinks, literally handing him the tools he needs. Intrigued by the pop, Credence twists the wrapper off and gives it a sniff. All he can smell is sugar.

With teasing in mind, he swallows past the nervous lump in his throat and swipes his tongue slowly along the glossy hard surface.

"Banana," he whispers, before again dragging his tongue flat along the candy, this time catching Percival's eye as he does so. The man is entirely zoned in on the motion, with his lips parting and eyes going half mast.

Credence notices that the tips of his ears are bright red. Encouraged by this, he soldiers on through the trembles that threaten to take over his body.

"Strawberry," he states, darting his tongue out to lick his lips, noting how Percival follows the action religiously with lust-black eyes.

Mr. Dubois, unaware of what is occurring right now, grins at Credence, "It's good ain't it?"

Credence returns the smile before looking back towards Percival.

“ _Delicious_ ," he murmurs, and sucks the little candy disk halfway into his mouth, forcing himself to make eye contact with the older wizard. Credence sucks the lollipop in and out as discreetly as possible while still aiming to tease. He startles when Percival suddenly groans low in his throat before the man quickly covers it with a cough and stands, striding over to the liquor cabinet.

"How about another one, Benny?" Percival asks in a deep, hoarse voice. The man clears his throat a few more times as he fills his glass halfway.

"I'm good actually, I was just about to head out." Mr. Dubois tilts back the rest of his whiskey before standing as well, placing the empty glass on the table.

Slipping the lollipop back in its, wrapper Credence rises to receive a hug and struggles not to shake.

"Let me walk you to the door," Percival murmurs, setting his glass down as well, and quickly steps out of the study with Mr. Dubois.

_I can't believe that I just did that_ , Credence thinks to himself, dazed. He needs desperately to catch his breath, so while the two man are saying their goodbyes in the foyer, he escapes to his room. With the door shut, he leans against it and takes in several deep lungfuls of air as his limbs slowly shake apart.

He's managed to get a positive reaction, but he's not sure that it's enough. Like Queenie said, Mr. Graves is still trying to play the gentleman, so he won't make a move.

 _ He _ has to make a deliberate push.

Credence's heart rate slows after a while and he stops shaking. Glancing around his room he spots the bag with the wand holsters. He'd completely forgotten about them.

He walks over to the bed and pulls the bag open, reaching in to take his out and leaving Percival's in.

He hopes he likes it.

Carrying the gift, he opens the door and steps into the hallway, pulling it shut behind him only to have large hands fist into the front of his shirt and push him against the wall as he turns. Credence startles so hard that he drops the bag.

He's pinned between the wall and Percival's solid body.

The man in question is staring at him with open hunger on his face, his thick brows knitted tightly, and his pupils blown wide, inky with lust.

" _Percival _ _?_ " Credence squeaks, face burning bright and arms hanging helplessly down at his sides.

"What do you think you’re doing , _Credence_?" He growls softly, his intense dark eyes boring into the younger man's skull. Credence swallows with an audible click

“I—I don't know what you mean," he whispers.

The older wizard chuckles and it's a dark, velvety, sensual sound that sends bolts of hot white arousal pouring into his hips.

" _No_ _?_ " Percival quirks a brow and leans in close, his face inches away, "Because I think that  _ you do_ _._ "

Credence doesn't move or speak, only maintains eye contact with short, shallow breaths. The other wizard is breathing just as quickly, and the air around them is thick with that unfamiliar tension.

"You're  playing with fire ." Percival warns in a raspy whisper, "Careful or you might get burned."

The younger wizard swipes his tongue along his dry lips and Percival's eyes swiftly follow the motion.

_This is it_ , he thinks.  _ Push_.

"Maybe I want to get burned,  _ Percy._"

There's a split second where Percival and Credence stare each other down as the magic between them is thrumming wildly, demanding to be let out.

With a low, almost feral, growl Percival surges forward and smashes their lips together. Credence is briefly shocked into a stupor before his brain jumpstarts and he pushes into the kiss with a needy moan. It's wild and desperate.

Percival thrusts a hand into the younger man's hair, angling Credence's head to deepen the kiss. 

Credence's hands find their way to the older man's hips, and grasp tightly at the tender flesh beneath the fabric.

A tongue traces his lower lip, seeking permission to enter, and Credence yields. When he parts his mouth, Percival eagerly slides his tongue, in licking with slow, deep strokes. He can taste the spice from the whiskey and a faint trace of sweet tartness from the _Twister_ they had earlier, and it’s probably the best thing he’s ever had the pleasure of sampling.

He wants that flavor on his tongue every day for the rest of his life.

Credence whimpers as the older wizard starts kissing a line from his mouth to his jaw, all the while running his free hand down the front of Credence's chest and side. Percival eventually untangles the hand that's in his hair to join its sibling in exploration.

"Do you know  _how long_ I've wanted to do this?" Percival murmurs huskily—kissing, nipping, and suckling at Credence's throat, " _ How hard  _ it's been to not bend you over my desk at work?  _ Hm_? To not take you there on the sofa in the study?" He runs possessive hands along the other man's back before dipping one low to squeeze the soft swell of a firm cheek.

Credence gasps loudly at the contact and involuntarily bucks forward, causing their hips to meet. Percival growls deep in his throat and slides a knee between Credence's thighs, licking a stripe up his neck as he does so.

He can feel himself swelling and growing hard against Percival's thigh, and his hips twitch minutely in search of friction. Credence slides trembling hands along the other's firm chest, down to his flat stomach where he’s rewarded with a pleased sigh.

Percival mouths at the delicate skin under Credence's jaw and nuzzles affectionately with the tip of his nose as he asks, "Can I mark you up, sweet thing? Make you  _ mine_?"

"P-please ..." Credence nods frantically and gasps, clutching Percival's shoulders when the man gently bites down and sucks the tender flesh of his neck. Liquid heat surges down his spine, his back arches and his hands scramble for purchase, ultimately rising to rake through the man's neatly groomed hair. His whole body feels as if it were being licked by flames, and all he can think is  yes, _more more more_.

Percival suckles and bites at the spot on his neck with rapt attention, soothing it periodically with the wet caress of his lips and tongue. As he's kissing his way back up the long expanse of skin, he slides his hand from Credence's rear to pull the younger man's shirt from the waistband of his trousers, sneaking a rogue hand beneath before he freezes.

Credence is dazed from the sensual assault, so it takes him a moment to realize that Percival has stopped.

“Wh-what's wrong?" He croaks, glossy eyes cracking open with worry.

"What's this?" Percival breathes into his ear, his fingers now gliding along the silken chemise that Credence had completely forgotten about.

He's about to attempt an answer when Percival suddenly pulls away, and Credence thinks that he's just gone and blown it, that the chemise was a horrible idea. He is clearly mistaken because the look of pure desire burning in the older man's eyes sucks the breath right out of him.

There's no warm brown left, _no_.

His eyes are entirely engulfed in black.

Holding his gaze Percival shoots his hands out to grasp the front of Credence's button-up, and in a display of pure carnal need, rips the shirt right open, sending buttons flying in every direction with soft  clicks across the the floor.

" _Fuck _ ," Percival hisses, and a muscle in his jaw jumps when he clenches it.

Credence releases a breathless laugh, "Surprise?"

In a matter of seconds Percival uses wandless magic to cast Credence's door open, scoops him up bridal style and storms the room. The younger man lets out a surprised squeak as he is unceremoniously tossed onto his own bed with Percival looming over him.

"You little  _ minx _ ," he growls as he loosens and undoes his tie, perhaps a bit too rough, seeing as the scorpion collar pins pop off to clatter somewhere on the floor, "You planned this, didn't you?"

Credence opens and closes his mouth in quick succession before finally settling on, "Queenie might have helped...”

Percival chuckles deep and rough, and the sound fuels his blazing arousal.

“I should have known," he purrs before crawling between Credence's legs. He eyes the chemise with great interest, teasing a hand along the frills at the top of the garment and slowly snaking his way down to where it disappears past his waistband, making Credence's belly convulse at the light touch.

"Please don't be upset with her," he chokes out as Percival glides his hand back up to stroke the pad of his thumb over a peaked nipple through the thin material. The older wizard stares down at him as he gently pinches the pebbled nub between two fingers, and Credence twitches and moans brokenly, bucking his hips upwards.

" _Upset _ _?_ I'm going to make sure that woman gets a pay raise," he informs before leaning down to claim Credence's mouth with another kiss. It's wild and hungry, but incredibly tender at the same time.

Percival nips at kiss-swollen lips until Credence surrenders with a whine, opening his mouth for the intrusion.

Percival dives in, licking deep and teasingly, exploring the hollow of his mouth before catching the younger man's tongue between his lips to suckle it gently. Credence is panting hard, his fingers reaching out to slide along the short grey hairs at Percival's nape. He moans in desperation when the older wizard slips his fingers beneath the silk at the top to flick his thumb against the other nipple.

He kisses from Credence's mouth to the shell of his ear, "Tell me what you want," he pants, "If you let me, I’ll make you feel _so good_."

Credence whines and throws his head back before rewinding to frantically meet the other man's gaze, "I—I want  _ everything _ ," he mewls, hands clutching Percival's collar like he's afraid the man might disappear, "I want  _ you_, Percy."

Percival buries his face in Credence's neck and groans, "You can have everything, baby. Im yours."

The older wizard grinds his hips down and Credence chokes at the pleasure that shoots through him when their clothed erections slide together. He drags his hands along Percival's back, skating lower to dig his fingertips into the firm flesh of the other man's ass encouragingly.

With another low growl, Percival shifts his hips again, stroking down continuously as Credence bucks to meet him. The pooling heat within has started to build, causing a sweet pleasure to pulse through his veins. He's teetering on the edge, primed for the fall when the other man suddenly pulls away to kneel between the V of his thighs. Credence whimpers in frustration at the sudden loss.

" _Sh-h-h,"_ Percival hushes softly, a teasing smile dancing on his lips, "I've got you."

Credence watches through glassy eyes as the older man waves a hand to vanish his torn button up and trousers, leaving him spread out in the chemise while revealing the matching lace stockings. Percival's eyes darken further at the discovery, and an appreciative groan rumbles deep in his chest.

"So  _fucking beautiful_ , " Percival growls reverently as he strokes trembling hands up the fine gossamer material hugging his calves, to the soft bare skin of Credence's thighs.

“A work of  _ art _ ." Deft fingers trace just below the hem of the chemise, slowly trailing higher until Credence is shaking from the teasing intimate contact. He nearly explodes out of his skin when Percival brushes his aching shaft.

"So sensitive," the older man coos, ghosting his touch once, twice more before withdrawing his hand.

" _Please_ ," Credence whimpers when he sees Percival moving to unbutton his waistcoat .

"What is it, darling?" He asks huskily, dark eyes half lidded.

Credence sits up and takes Percival's hands, moving them away from the waistcoat, "I—I want to do it," he whispers, eliciting a groan from the man.

Under Percival's intense stare, Credence unbuttons the garment. He struggles with a few as his hands shake, but the older man doesn't intervene, he simply reclines on his heels and watches with parted lips and heated eyes.

Once he frees the final button, Credence reaches up to slide his hands under the shoulders of the waistcoat and pushes until it slips over and off.

Next he moves to Percival's shirt collar working his way down, slipping one button at a time through each slit to reveal his taut, sculpted torso, lightly dusted with dark hair. Credence's mouth waters at the sight and he longs to run his lips across the man's bare skin, so he does. As he's tugging the shirt free from Percival's trousers, he leans in to kiss along the man's sternum and is rewarded with a breathy moan.

He feels the skin beneath his mouth tremble, and suddenly there are fingers in his hair. He's kissing lower, moving his lips in a soft caress past each rib when he's suddenly eased back by a hand. He lifts his head and gasps out when Percival draws him forward into his lap, knees straddling the man's hips.

"Such a  _ sweet boy_," Percival pants, moving his hands along Credence's back until he reaches the sleeves of the chemise. He nips gently at the younger man's neck as he slowly draws the garment down, chasing after the descending fabric with his lips and tongue.

Credence cries out when the older wizard takes a rosy nipple between his lips, his tongue laving eagerly over the peak. Percival repeatedly licks and nibbles, moving back and forth between the two nubs as he continues to slide the chemise down Credence's body. He lets the fabric drop until it hangs from his waist, and moans spill, one after the other from Credence's lips at Percival's attentive ministrations.

The older wizard looks up at him through dark lashes as he licks a hit, wet stripe up the center of his chest. “Does that feel good, darling?"

Credence holds Percival's shoulders in a tight grip as his body convulses with minute tremors.

“ _So_ good ," he praises, drunk with arousal.

"How about I make you feel even better,  _ hm?_" Percival murmurs, lifting Credence from his lap to deposit him onto his back. The man claims his mouth briefly before trailing kisses down his neck, to his chest and along his belly, where he drags the chemise even lower. He pauses the journey, gazing up to lock mischievous eyes with Credence before dipping his tongue to lick into his navel.

A sharp bolt of pleasure shoots straight to his groin and he cries out.

"I've  never heard a more beautiful sound," Percival stops to whisper, his lips brushing the younger man's stomach as he speaks. He continues with the probing licks that have Credence squirming and fisting the sheets as soft, pleading moans fill the room.

Percival licks and nips the skin around his bellybutton before pulling the fabric to rest just above his erection. He gazes up at Credence and the expression on his face is heated, yet surprisingly vulnerable.

"Can I make love to you?" Percival asks hoarsely, his dark eyes scanning Credence's face, seeking consent.

" _Please _ , yes. I-I want you to," he whispers, reaching down to cup the older man's face.

Percival's eyes flutter shut and he leans into the touch.

The moment is so tender and so intimate that Credence feels a knot forming in his throat, his eyes stinging with tears.

Percival turns his face to place a reverent kiss to Credence's palm before he suddenly lowers his head to nuzzle and mouth lovingly at his throbbing length through the silky fabric.

Credence throws his head back and whines high in his throat. Percival's warm, wet mouth suckles the tip of his cock, pulling the spongy head between his lips to flick his tongue along the underside. Pleasure burns through him with every stroke, and each wave is more intense than the last. Percival lifts his hand to cup the swell of his balls, talented fingers knead and tease them until Credence is begging.

" _Percy! _ Pl-please, I need—" he thrashes his head back and forth, his fingers raking desperately through the older man's hair.

"What do you need, baby?" Percival rasps, but doesn't wait for an answer as he draws the chemise lower and Credence's flushed cock springs free. He's on it immediately, swallowing him down to the root in one swift motion. Credence practically screams, his hands gripping hair tightly. He has to tell himself to loosen his hold so as not to hurt the other man.

Percival bobs his head, sliding his mouth up and down his cock, occasionally drawing back to lick a firm stripe across the long vein underneath. He circles his tongue around the fevered head and swipes it along the slit, greedily collecting salty beads as they form. He suckles the tip enthusiastically before pulling off with an obscene  pop .

The older wizard wraps his fingers around the wet, glistening shaft and he begins to stroke him at a torturously slow pace.

“That memory, during the  _ Occlumency _ lesson...”

Percival continues to stroke Credence's cock as he dips his head to lick at his sensitive balls.

“I went into my room and jerked off," he shamelessly admits as he moves to lick the other one, "I wanted to take you right there. To snatch your trousers down and taste your little pink hole until you came screaming  _ my name_."

Credence slaps a hand over his mouth and bites down on the meat of his palm. The combination of being physically stimulated while Percival admits such filthy things was just about enough to drive him over the edge.

The older man swiftly grasps his wrist and pulls Credence's hand away.

“Oh _no_ , baby...I want to  _ hear you_," he growls softly, penetrating him with dark eyes.

Percival rises from where he's laying, sitting back on his heels to pull the chemise the rest of the way down. He slips it off Credence's legs and tosses it to the floor, leaving the stockings in place. Credence doesn't have time to feel self-conscious about being naked, because in the next moment, with the help of  _ beautiful,_ _wonderful_ , wandless  _ magic_, Percival is too.

He rakes hungry eyes down the man's body, devouring the miles of bare skin. His arms and legs are toned with lean muscle, his chest and shoulders broad with definition and his waist slim with the faintest hint of softness along his belly. 

Percival is in great shape, most Aurors have to be with the physically demanding work they do, but he never could have imagined just how  in shape  he really was. He’s incredibly pleasing to look at, and Credence positively wants to  _ consume _ him.

Credence then drops his gaze lower and chews at the inside of his cheek. The man’s length is long and thick, nestled in dark hair and hanging heavy between his legs. He can see a tiny pearl of precum glistening at the slit, and Credence wants to simultaneously suck, stroke and sit on it all at the same time. He's absolutely  vibrating with need.

The older wizard shoots him a smug grin when he catches the other staring, before settling himself back down between Credence's thighs.

He doesn't think he can handle any more teasing.

"Percy, I-I _can't_... I—"

Percival nips playfully along the inside of the younger man's thigh, "What is it?"

Credence grits his teeth, and after a long moment of mental preparation, he whispers, "I need you in me, please."

The older wizard drops his head to rest against Credence's leg, " _ Fuck _ ," he hisses, before lifting his face to stare at him with lust-blown eyes.

“ _ Yeah_? You want me to open you up and  _ fuck you? _ Want me to pound into you until you  cum on _my cock?_ " He asks breathlessly, nudging Credence's legs open wider, and fingers drift past his aching length to tease at his rim.

"Oh my God,  _ yes_ _!_ " He chokes, nearly biting through his lip.

Percival chuckles seductively, licking his lips before he whispers something. Credence briefly wonders what until he feels a slick finger running laps at his hole. The older wizard kisses the delicate skin of his thigh as he slowly eases the tip of one digit in past the circle of muscles. Credence throws his head back and keens at the strange, yet pleasant, sensation.

"Tell me," Percival murmurs as he slips the finger in deeper, twisting and turning it inside him, "Has anyone touched you here before?"

Credence wrestles with another moan as the older wizard starts to push his finger in and out, slowly coaxing the muscle to relax and open.

"N-no, I've never done this— _or_ _anything_ — with anyone before," he admits, feverishly. He's rewarded with a second finger that slips in alongside the first, and he moans loudly at the addition.

Percival groans sympathetically, plunging the two fingers in to scissor and stretch.

“I'll be  _ so _ gentle," he promises in a soft voice as he rests his head against Credence's thigh to watch him, a tender expression painted across his face.

“I'm going to take _such good care of you_."

The stretch burns a little, but not enough to dampen how  incredible this feels. He closes his eyes and notes how the sensation heightens when he does so, how Percival's fingers feel as they slide in and out with ease, how ripples of pleasure trickle through him.

The older wizard suddenly crooks his fingers, rubbing along his inner walls as he thrusts them in, as if he's searching for something. A moment later Credence jolts when Percival  definitely brushes up against  something that causes indescribable pleasure to shock through his body, causing lights to dance behind his eyes. He chokes on a scream and squirms restlessly, his body eagerly crying  more .

" _There _ it is," Percival breathes shakily as his fingers continue assaulting that spot, the tips rubbing small, tight circles against the bundle of nerves.

" _Ah-h-h-h!_ ” Credence writhes on the bed, cock dribbling glistening pearls to smear on his stomach, "P-Per—"

" _That's it _ , baby," Percival praises with a breathless laugh, quickly slipping in a third digit to resume the attack on his prostate.

“Cum for me,  Credence ," he commands, fucking his fingers in and out rapidly, creating a symphony of obscene, wet slaps that echo throughout the room.

Credence arches up off the bed and does just that, his brain whiting out as waves of pleasure crash through him and he climaxes, shooting ribbons of seed across his chest and stomach.

He lies there panting, his chest rising and falling as he slowly comes back to his body. Percival is kissing his way up, stopping to lap at the spilled nectar splattered across his skin with long, flat strokes of his tongue. Credence's cock twitches valiantly at the sight.

Percival continues his ascent, finally planting tender kisses against his flushed neck when he reaches it.

“ _So_ _good_ for me," he purrs, nuzzling his nose under the younger man's jaw.

Credence turns his head to give the man sloppy kisses and groans when he tastes himself blended in with the spicy  Firewhisky . He rakes his fingers through Percival's mussed hair, scratching at the scalp, and gasps into his mouth when he feels the blunt tip of the man's cock nudging his wet hole.

"Is this okay?" Percival asks hoarsely, running a hand soothingly along Credence's side.

Credence sighs softly, "More than."

Percival kisses the younger man's sweaty temple and mutters a spell to slick his cock before slowly pushing forward, his dark gaze holding him captive.

The vigorous foreplay was enough to stretch and relax his muscles, so there's hardly any burn when the head slips past his rim.

Credence moans softly, bringing his hands to rest on the other man's shoulders. Percival slides in inch by inch, pausing occasionally to allow the other time to adjust, and each time Credence would nod his head for him to continue, gripping at the man's lower back in urgency.

Percival finally bottoms out with a low groan, and buryies his face into Credence's neck.

“ _F-_ _ fuck _ ," the man whimpers, his breath coming out in short pants, " _So _ good."

He feels full; Delightfully so.  


He never imagined how good this could be, and Credence's body trembles when the older man braces his forearms on either side of his head and stares down at him with something akin to worship.

"I'm going to start moving now, okay?" Percival breathes, leaning down to pepper his face with sweet kisses.

"Yes, please... _ please _ move," he whispers, moaning softly when the man does just that.

Percival shifts his hips and draws back, pulling out halfway before slipping back in. 

Fire ignites along Credence's skin at the sensation, from the tight drag of the others cock within him, fanning the swift scorch of pleasure with each stroke. He can feel himself flutter and tighten around it. 

Gasping, he brings his hands up to rake blunt fingernails into the older wizard's back. Percival groans and nips at the mark on Credence's neck as he sets a slow, pleasantly agonizing tempo.

He thinks he could live in this moment forever, with just the two of them in each other's arms connected in the most intimate of ways. With Percival above him gazing down with an expression so fond that it makes his stomach clench with emotion. 

The word  love floats through his mind and he chokes back a sob.

The steady grip and pull of Percival's cock has him squirming, and his body screams  faster, more more more . He must have said that out loud, because the other suddenly snaps his hips forward, causing light to spark behind his eyelids.

" _Aggghhh _ _!_ " Credence winds his legs around Percival, locking his ankles together at the small of his back, and draws him in deeper in the process.

" _Fuck _ _!_ " Percival shouts and snaps his hips sharply again, and again, and again, quickly speeding up the pace of his thrusts. He grips Credence's firm cheeks and lifts them off the mattress, bending over him to drive his cock in at an angle until he's slamming against his prostate with each down stoke.

Frantic little _ah-ah-ahs_ are punched out of Credence and he shoots his hands out to brace himself on Percival's biceps. The muscles beneath his fingers are trembling and straining, and the skin is heated and damp with sweat.

Credence stares up at the man through glassy eyes, his lips bruised and rosy, and they part while he pants. Percival looks absolutely  wrecked . The older man's hair is mussed and hanging down in wavy strands against his forehead. The skin of his face and neck are flushed, and his pitch-black eyes are burning bright with arousal.

Credence is certain that this image will haunt him forever, and he is absolutely  looking forward to it.

Between them he can feel his cock fully swollen once more, and the tip weeps onto his stomach. Pressure is building deep in his groin, a near overwhelming rise of ecstasy, as his second release looms over him.

His thoughts are scattered to the wind, none making much sense in his lust-driven state, and he’s  so close , right there with his toe over the edge.

"Fuck me," he pleads, bucking his hips up to meet each thrust, desperate for  more, harder, faster .

" _Fuck _ , Credence!" The feral sound that rips from Percival's throat nearly sends him spiraling over.

Percival quickly draws back to kneel between his legs, tightening his grip, and digging his fingers tight into supple flesh for better leverage as he proceeds to pound mercilessly into him.

The sharp slap of wet skin booms loudly in the room, a filthy accompaniment to their passionate lovemaking.

Credence chokes on a series of moans, throwing his head back to whine desperately.

"You feel  _ so fucking good _ ," Percival grits out, strategically angling his hips to smash repeatedly against that tight bundle of nerves within Credence.

"So fuckin’  _ hot and tight _ on my cock," he praises, reaching a hand to slide up the younger man's stomach and chest, lifting it to cup his cheek and drag a thumb along his bottom lip.

Dazed, Credence opens his mouth to pull the digit in, suckling gently.

"Mercy  _ fucking _ Lewis," Percival curses, suddenly thrusting in erratically, nearly pulling all the way out before slamming back in each time. He slips his thumb from Credence's mouth and snakes his hand between them to pump his cock ruthlessly, creating soft, squelching noises.

"Can you cum for me again,  _ hm _ _?_ Cum for me  one more time , daring," Percival pants, swiping his thumb over the younger man's weeping head.

And that does it. _He’s_ _ gone _ .

Credence seizes up as his second orgasm explodes through him like a hurricane, his flushed cock pulses between their bodies and his mind goes pleasantly blank, his limbs feeling deliciously boneless.

Percival leans over him whimpering strings of praise, hips snapping frantically as he chases his own climax. With a sharp intake of breath and a long, drawn out groan the older man presses his face into Credence's neck, driving home and burying his cock deep.

Warmth blooms within him as Percival spills his seed, and the man trembles with each wave of ecstasy. He shivers at the sensation and thinks it's something he could see himself getting addicted to.

The older wizard rains kisses down on his face and neck as his breathing slows, lovingly nuzzling the love bite with his nose and lips.

"I love you," Percival whispers as he kisses along the skin under Credence's jaw, causing a lump to form in the younger man's throat at the tender declaration.

"I knew I loved you from the moment we met," he eases back and cards fingers through Credence's hair, gazing down at him with fond eyes, "I didn't think you would feel the same."

Credence swallows past the knot, his simmering emotions threatening to spill over, "Is that why you never said anything?" He whispers, lifting his hands to gently caress up the other man's sides.

Percival plants a kiss between his brows, "That's one reason, yes," he murmurs.

Tilting his head in confusion he asks, "And the other?”

"I didn't think that I deserved someone as kind as you," Percival softly admits as his warm brown eyes scan Credence's face.

Credence balks at this.

Percival Graves: Director of Magical Security of MACUSA and Wizarding America's most eligible bachelor thought  _ he _ didn't deserve Credence?

His brain nearly implodes at the idea, at the revelation that Percival felt just as nervous and doubtful as he did. That he was afraid to make his interest known. Afraid to make himself vulnerable.

_Afraid_.

He lifts his hands to either side of Percival's face, cupping his warm cheeks, "I love you, too," he whispers before catching the older man in a slow, passionate kiss. What sounds like a soft sob is muffled as Credence brushes their lips together.

_I love you_ , he thinks,  _and I will gladly give all of myself to you_.

*

They lie in his bed for a while, Percival finally sliding his softened length out (Credence secretly mourned the loss) and slipped in behind him, his toned arms enveloping him to pull him flush against his chest. He peppers tender kisses along the back of his neck and shoulder while whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

_ This must be what heaven is like _ , he sleepily thinks to himself.

They snuggle like that for hours until the sun has dipped below the horizon to paint the room in shadows. They make love once more, just as heated and passionate, gasping each other's name through their shared climaxes.

Eventually they agree they need to get up and Percival casts a wandless cleaning charm to vanish the evidence of their lovemaking before slipping out of the room to retrieve his dressing robe.

Credence is just slipping into his own when Percival appears in the doorway.

“What's this?" He questions.

The younger man turns around to see him holding the bag he dropped in the hallway earlier.

"Oh, yeah. Open it," he says, smiling at the curiosity on the older man's face as he sits on the edge of the bed to watch him.

Percival opens the bag and pulls the wand holster out, expression warm as he examines it.

“It's beautiful," he murmurs, running a finger along the smooth leather, "There's some rather impressive protection charms here," he lifts his head to gaze at Credence affectionately, and the younger wizard's chest swells at the radiating love he feels for Percy.

"Do you like it?" He croaks, chewing the inside of his cheek when Percival approaches him.

"I love it, thank you darling," he leans down to press a chaste, yet sweet, kiss to his lips, "But I have to admit that I like the lingerie more," he adds with a flirtatious wink before crawling over him for a deep, sensual kiss.

Credence could  _ really _get used to this.

* 

On Monday morning he's standing in the alcove at work, waiting as he usually does, dreamily thinking back to his perfect, surprising weekend. 

How he and Percival had spent all of Sunday together at home talking, holding each other and sharing mind-numbing intimacy. His face heats up at the thought and he works to school his expression.

Before they apparated in this morning they stood in the kitchen exchanging heated kisses and touches, with Percival nipping teasingly along his neck. 

They would have been late to work if not for the carrier pigeon that was also running late, a shrunken copy of  _ The New York Ghost  _ strapped to its foot, violently rapping on the glass above the sink to effectively startle them out of their make-out session.

 _Damn that bird_. They could've been wrapped up together in bed right now.

The quick tap of heels drags him out of his reverie and Credence lifts his head to watch as Queenie bounces his way. She's got her usual bright smile on.

"Morning Honey!" She chirps cheerfully, ever the ray of sunshine, in the process of reaching out to give him a hug when she stops.

A giant grin breaks out across her face and her eyes go comically wide as she squeals a pitchy laugh, petite hand flying to her mouth.

"I'm getting  a _raise_ _!_ ”

Credence drops his head and groans, even as a tiny smile twitches at the corner of his lips.

After this weekend, he’s sure that it will be generous.

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and a big thank you to @foggys_cupcake_girl for all your help! ❤️


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